


At the End of All Things

by Mengde



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-19
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-08 03:35:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 44
Words: 169,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/438696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mengde/pseuds/Mengde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forty five years after the Fall of Gaea, all of Vincent's friends are old, dead, or missing. When a new evil emerges, he must set out on a journey to find a long lost ally and to better understand himself and the disease that has ripped the Planet apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the longest piece of fan fiction I've ever written, and definitely the darkest. However, I do feel like (next to The Red Cloak) this is the best extended piece I've composed outside my original fiction. It serves as a sequel to FFVII - I didn't intend to write it that way, but it wraps up a lot of hanging plot threads. Just be warned, this story features a lot of death and horror.

A jukebox sat in the corner of the bar, playing a tinny tune that nobody listened to. The interior of the bar was hot, nearly ninety degrees, but outside people still wore cloaks and hats. Here they could shed those accoutrements, but outside they needed protection from the sun, after all, and being hot was a small price to pay in exchange for avoiding excessive ultraviolet exposure and all the skin problems that accompanied it.

The bar smelled like cheap booze, sweat, and a hint of blood. The patrons were all large, tough-looking men, the typical sort. One had to be tough to survive in this hell, this new Gaea, after the Fall. All of them wore light colors to better deflect the sun while outside.

There was one notable exception. A man sat in the corner of the bar, feet up on a table, a single empty shot glass in front of him. His black hair was cut to shoulder-length in a nod to practicality in these dark days, and his old golden boots had long ago been replaced with large combat boots less prone to getting sand in them. Otherwise, everything else about him was the same as it had always been.

His red cloak was secured around his upper body by a series of belts, the high collar just hiding his mouth. He wore loose black clothing underneath it, as he wasn't susceptible to heat in the same way that most men were. On his left arm was a brass gauntlet adorned with wicked-looking talons, and at his side hung a holster with a massive, three-barreled gun in it.

His eyes, ruby red, were fixed on one man sitting at the bar, absorbing every detail of the target's face, every subtlety of his movements. His skin, in stark contrast to everyone else's, was pale.

His name was Vincent Valentine.

He was over a hundred years old.

* * *

Vincent had been sitting there for two hours, waiting for his target to come in. The bar was the only one in the small town of New Gongaga, and anyone who wanted a drink would have to come here. People he'd talked to had told him that the target had a habit of showing up at this bar at some point every day for a drink, and Vincent was counting on that. He could have dispatched the target anywhere else, but he needed a place to sit and think, and it would be convenient when the target delivered himself back into Vincent's mercy.

Now the man in question had finally showed up, and Vincent was busily scrutinizing his face and his body language, praying that he was mistaken even though he knew he wasn't. Depending on the nature of a Lost's symptoms, its facial features might be changing bit by bit, or its body language might be changing, or both. Since Vincent had begun observation a mere six hours ago, this man's cheekbones had started to protrude more and more, the jut of his brow had been increasing, and he walked with more and more of a hunch.

These changes would have been indistinguishable to most people over a span of only six hours, but Vincent was not most people. That was why this was his job.

There had been an outbreak of the disease here in New Gongaga a week ago. Apparently a scavenger had wandered into town, claiming to have struck it rich, and had rented the best room in the better of the town's two hotels. Less than a day later, he had turned out to be a Lost and had proceeded to slaughter or infect everyone in the hotel before the police could show up, enforce quarantine, and put him down.

Still, after a quarantine was put into effect, there was always a purge of the town in question. There were always hunts, people beaten to death for exhibiting even the slightest hint of a symptom, the slightest difference in detail or deviation from memory… And nobody protested. Nobody campaigned for the rights of the suspects, because if somebody was spared and they turned out to be a Lost, the results would be far worse than if they had just been killed in the first place.

It was generally agreed upon that the disease was spread through fluids – saliva, blood, other bodily excretions – and was thus only transmissible through direct contact, but the extent of the contact required was unknown. If a potential Lost spat on you, were you doomed? Would it have to bite you or have sex with you to infect you? Nobody knew for sure, and nobody cared to try to find out. All that could be done was find potential Losts, kill them, and move on. Finding them was sometimes difficult, and that was why Inquisitors existed.

Inquisitors technically were supposed to be dispatched in response to outbreak, to contain the situation and lead the follow-up hunt. However, due to the problems of traveling and how thin the Inquisitors were spread, they almost always showed up after hunts and ensured that no potential Losts slipped through the cracks.

Vincent finally got up from his seat and strode over to the bar. He'd known for sure that the target was infected from moment one. Changing facial features and body language were the most prominent symptoms that anyone could detect with a little luck. People who seemed even slightly different from normal – in their neighbors' judgments – were often killed during a Hunt due to the widespread prevalence of these symptoms.

The real way to tell, the way Inquisitors could identify a target with a moment's glance, was a closely guarded secret. He'd seen it in that first moment, and he'd just been stalling to salve what little conscience he had left, analyzing the man to make sure the other symptoms were present when there was really no need. It was time to act.

He cleared his throat while standing right behind the man, and the man jumped a little and turned to face him. "Can I do something for you?" he asked.

"Yes," Vincent replied. "I – wait. What's that on your leg?"

The man swiveled his head around to look down at his legs, and as he did so Vincent smoothly raised his arm, which began to glow with the power of Materia, and placed his fist against the man's temple.

Before the target even knew what was happening, he was dead. A massive gout of white-hot flame exploded from Vincent's fist as the Materia glow increased even more, incinerating the man's head, reducing it to nothing but ash. The cauterized stump of the dead man's neck began to smoke, and the bar now smelled like cheap alcohol and a lot of charred meat.

The patrons stared at Vincent in shock and confusion, some of them going for sidearms. Vincent held up a hand and withdrew a long syringe from the folds of his cloak. He jabbed the corpse with it and pulled back the plunger, withdrawing a sample of the man's blood.

The confusion and shock faded from the faces of the patrons and was replaced with relief. The sample was not the color that blood should be. It was a horribly deep red, not the vivid crimson of blood but instead a shade so dark that it was almost black. Vincent nodded and produced another flame with his Materia, centered it in his palm, and used it to completely incinerate the syringe. He grabbed the glass the man had been drinking from and dropped that into the flame as well. Then he bodily hauled the corpse outside, into the sunlight, tossed it down onto the dirt of the road, and began gathering his energies.

Incineration was the only truly safe way to dispose of a Lost, potential or otherwise. The problem was that, after the Fall, most settlements simply did not have the technology or the resources available to construct proper incinerators. That was the other duty of Inquisitors, and that was why they were all armed with mastered Fire Materia and taught to project a flame that rivaled the power of the breath of Bahamut.

A crowd had, by this point, begun to form, consisting of people following him out from the bar and other people stopping in the street to stare. Vincent thought he should take this opportunity to clarify the situation.

"I am Inquisitor Vincent Valentine," he said as the flames gathered around his arm, swirling and growing brighter and hotter. He had never liked the way it sounded, but his position had to be made known. "I've completed my post-hunt sweep, and this was the only remaining potential Lost in New Gongaga. How the scavenger managed to infect him I don't know, and it doesn't really matter."

He pointed a finger at the corpse and a burst of flame so hot that it was white – whiter than white, flame that had gone beyond flame and ascended into the realm of pure destructive force – rocketed from his outstretched digit and reduced the corpse to nothing. Not even ash was left, and there was a sizable hole in the ground where the corpse had been.

"This town is clean," he said after a moment. "Please return to your lives. If another outbreak occurs, make sure to notify the Protectorate." He turned away and started back to the other hotel in New Gongaga, the one that he hadn't reduced to less than ash after arriving in town.

Vincent hated his job.

* * *

Static crawled across the screen as the portable transmitter attempted to establish a signal lock with headquarters. The device looked to most people like a briefcase, but when opened, it contained an entire communications array, including a radio, visual transmitter, printer, and several other modes of sending information. It was one of the few pieces of old WRO tech the Protectorate had been able to duplicate and produce in large numbers if not en masse.

Finally it locked onto the proper carrier wave and the static was replaced with the black-and-white image of Yuffie's face.

The image might have been black and white, but the resolution was high and the picture very clear. Vincent studied the lines in his old friend's face, the streaks of grey in her hair, remembered how vibrant and alive she used to be. Not that she wasn't still Yuffie, but there was something about her that had faded with time, something he suspected he would never see again.

She gave him a smile and said, "Hello, Vince. How'd the Inquisition go?"

"Like it always does," Vincent replied. "Like it always will."

Her smile became a frown and her tone scolding. "Don't make me beat some sense into you again, Vince. You're doing what's necessary. We all are. This is no time to start being a crybaby about it."

"We've been doing what's necessary for more than forty years, and look where we are," Vincent deadpanned. "Still living in Hell on a world that's not alive anymore but won't have the decency to just die."

"Are you off your meds again, Vince?"

"Yuffie, don't joke."

She looked pained and shook her head. "Sorry." She glanced off-camera for a moment and then said, "I have your next assignment here, Vince. Reeve wants you to figure out exactly where this scavenger picked up his case of the disease."

Vincent sighed. "That order would have been nice to have six hours ago, before I reduced the place where he died to a burnt stain."

"We know that," Yuffie said, her tone a touch reproving. "We wouldn't have given you this if we didn't have a lead for you, remember? We did some database-searching with the assumption that this scavenger struck it rich and decided to head to town immediately. Did he say how?"

"No," Vincent replied. "Probably discovered a tech cache too large to move by himself, so he had to get to the nearest town to call in a team to help."

"That's what we assumed, too. Looking at old maps of the area, there were two WRO outposts that might have the kind of stuff he'd think could make him rich. Check them out and if they're a disease source, you know what to do." The printer in the portable transmitter buzzed and spat out a piece of paper bearing a map of the area with the places to investigate marked. "Any questions?"

"No," Vincent replied. "I'm sure I'll be able to handle it."

"I know you will, Vince," Yuffie said with a smile. "Take care. And watch your head."

"I intend to." Vincent thumbed the off switch on the transmitter and sat there in silence for a moment, contemplating.

He stretched out his left arm to its full length and began to slowly pull his gauntlet off. The arm beneath the metal was normal, gloved entirely in black leather. On his wrist, usually concealed by the gauntlet, were two faded red ribbons.

One of them was his. The other…

Vincent stared at the other ribbon. He stared at it and wondered what Cloud would have made of this world.


	2. Chapter 2

The first spot on the map that Vincent had to investigate was only a few miles out of New Gongaga. Once one got beyond the walls of a city, one was confronted with nothing but desert – sometimes smooth, sometimes rocky and jagged. There was no more weather – not for a very long time. Sometimes Vincent missed the feeling of rain on his face.

Very few people dared to brave the wastes. Between the harsh conditions and the monsters that had become all the more horrible and dangerous in this new environment, there was nothing in the desert to make anyone want to visit. Most people grew up in a city and stayed there their entire lives – rarely, if ever, venturing beyond its borders.

Those that did move through the desert came in only a few varieties. There were the Inquisitors and other Protectorate personnel. There were the traders that moved from city to city, caravans that kept people in touch and sustained civilization. There were raiders that preyed on the caravans and mercenaries that protected the same.

There were also the scavengers, who came in two varieties – the extraordinarily hardy and daring and the extraordinarily greedy.

This scavenger had obviously been of the latter sort. The site, an old WRO outpost that was buried up to its roof in sand, was completely deserted and had been that way for years, ever since the Fall. Due to its proximity to New Gongaga it was easy pickings, and it had been searched many times over. Vincent very much doubted that there was anything to be found.

Still, it was his job to check the place out, and he was nothing if not thorough.

There were several holes in the roof, all of different sizes. Vincent chose the largest one – which was about as big around as a manhole and looked like it had been blown open – and jumped down through it.

The fall was longer than he had anticipated, a good eight feet. He landed easily and drew Cerberus with one hand, conjuring a flame to see by in the other one.

As he'd expected, the outpost was a complete mess. Computer terminals had been torn open and stripped clean of useful parts, lockers and filing cabinets had been ransacked for interesting files. Everything of value that hadn't been nailed down had been taken, and then everything that hadn't been nailed down too tightly had been pulled up and taken too.

Vincent was about to leap back out and move on to the other spot on his map when he heard something. It was very faint, impossible for anyone without his enhanced hearing to detect, but he could just make it out, though he couldn't tell quite what it was.

Extinguishing his flame and relying on his nightvision, which was capable of discerning objects in total darkness thanks to his modifications, Vincent crept forward as he recalled the layout of the typical pre-Fall WRO outpost. This was the command center, where all the valuable equipment and data would have been stored. Down the hallway was the dormitory, which housed the three to four resident soldiers who had been responsible for manning the outpost and maintaining order in the area.

As he moved farther down the hallway towards the dormitory, the sound grew louder, and Vincent realized that he recognized it. There was something else in here, something alive… and it was chewing.

The hallway ended and split in two directions, left and right. Vincent judged that the chewing noises were coming from the right, so he took that route, which led him into the showers and restroom area. Opening the door a crack, Vincent eyed the room. Its layout was such that someone entering from the hallway could go to the line of sinks and mirrors arrayed along the left wall, proceed directly forward to the stalls of toilets, or move to the right side, where there was a series of showers.

The chewing was coming from the showers, and it was now very loud and accompanied by occasional wet ripping sounds. Vincent swallowed and tightened his grip on Cerberus before he threw the door open. He tumbled into the room, coming up in a combat crouch with his gun pointed at the showers.

Something looked up at him from the third shower to the right, something with soulless, entirely black eyes the size of saucers. It opened its mouth and screamed, spraying bits and pieces of whatever it was it was eating – probably some desert-dwelling animal or monster, it didn't really matter. Whatever it was, it was dead, and Vincent had more pressing concerns.

The Lost had only been screaming for half a second when the mirrors behind Vincent began to crack and shatter. He sighted in on its head and squeezed Cerberus's trigger, sending a three-round burst straight at the spot between the Lost's massive eyes.

With extraordinary speed, the creature whipped itself out of the way of the shots, which blasted deep into in the cracked shower wall behind it. The creature sprang forward, and Vincent felt it bury an iron-hard fist in his gut at the same moment that it ripped Cerberus out of his hands. The Lost tossed the gun away and hit Vincent square across the jaw, still screaming.

The blow lifted him off of the floor and threw him bodily into the mirrors, which completely destroyed them and sent glass shards flying everywhere. He landed hard on the row of sinks, crushing several faucets beneath his weight. The Lost stopped screaming, perhaps in order to catch its breath, and Vincent took the opportunity to conjure another flame. He saw no point in trying to fight in the dark now that the element of surprise had been lost.

In the light of the flame, the Lost covered its massive eyes and snarled. It had once been a human being, that much was certain, but who it had been and even the question of whether it had been a man or a woman was lost to time. The lower half of its body stood upright, as a normal human being's might, except for the fact that its legs were gnarled and twisted, muscles bulging out grotesquely from beneath cracked and bleeding skin.

The Lost's upper body was bent horribly at the waist, the spine warped and twisted beneath the flesh. Its neck was nearly level with its knees, and its arms were short and gnarled. When it moved forward it walked on the palms of its hands, which had long, wicked talons that clicked menacingly against the floor. Its head was twisted up in a particularly unnatural fashion, its neck almost curving in a V shape, so it could see forward.

Its jaw had unhinged, its teeth replaced with multiple sharp rows of serrated fangs, and it drooled black spittle as its enormous pupils shrunk to relative pinpricks in the face of the fire. Vincent lashed out, elongating the flame into a whip, but the Lost leapt out of the way with astonishing nimbleness and then charged at Vincent, its shuffling, quasi-quadrupedal gait as terrifying as its appearance.

It leaped at him, and Vincent threw himself out of the way, landing in front of the toilet stalls. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Lost smash into the faux-marble of the sinks and reduce them to rubble with its momentum. He sent another gout of flame roaring towards it. This one actually hit its mark, burning the Lost all along its right side. It started to scream again, the sound like a hundred nails on a chalkboard magnified a thousand times. Vincent felt a hot, wet sensation beginning to run down the front and sides of his head and he knew that his ears and nose were beginning to bleed, but it was an academic sort of knowledge, something he could deal with later when he wasn't about to get killed.

The Lost tore what was left of one of the sinks right out of the wall and hurled it at Vincent, who took it in the gut. He felt bile surging up in his throat and clamped his jaw tightly shut, managing to keep down his lunch. A retaliatory fireball went wide, but its light revealed that Cerberus had skidded to a halt in the far corner of the room, where the Lost was right between the gun and him.

It charged again, the muscles in its legs beginning to ooze some kind of putrid substance he didn't want to even begin to think about. He reached behind him, got a grip on the seat of the toilet in the stall directly behind him, and ripped it right off of its hinges, broadsiding the Lost across the face with it as the creature was about to bury its fangs in his neck. Its charge was derailed to the side, and it ran head-first into the wall of the stall, crushing the hard plastic like it was made of tissue paper. Vincent seized his opening, taking three steps away from the Lost and then leaping for his gun, arms outstretched.

He landed two inches short of Cerberus's handle. Vincent swore heatedly and pulled himself forward, but his foe seized him by the end of his cloak and yanked, hard, pulling him further away from the weapon. Thinking fast, Vincent rolled onto his side and brought his gauntlet up in a surgical strike that sliced straight through the belts securing his cloak. The Lost gave another tug that ripped the garment right off of Vincent. He surged forward and grabbed Cerberus, then rolled over onto his back and sighted between his legs at the creature. He held his breath to steady his aim and fired.

The Lost, which was trying to get rid of the cloak so it could charge again, couldn't dodge out of the way quite fast enough this time. Vincent's first three-round burst blew the right side of its skull clean off. The second burst blew off its jaw and destroyed most of its throat, cutting off its scream, and the third burst impacted right between the eyes, shredding what remained of its head. It twitched, just once, and finally collapsed to the ground, dead.

The sound of his own labored breathing was suddenly very loud in Vincent's ears, which he only then realized hurt. He staggered to his feet, walked over to the Lost, took back his cloak, and started gathering the necessary power to incinerate the carcass.

It was becoming fairly clear to him what had happened. This was definitely the place that the scavenger had visited – he would check the other location on the map just to be sure, but the scenario was falling together very nicely in his mind. The scavenger had obviously come down here, found something he thought would make him rich, and had accidentally infected himself by getting some of the Lost's drool or other fluid on him without realizing it. Then he'd gotten back to New Gongaga, and Vincent knew what had happened after that.

It wasn't surprising that the scavenger had made it in and out of the outpost without even seeing the Lost. Despite their bestial nature, Losts were intelligent, malevolently so. They knew the only way to propagate their species, if it could even be called that, was to infect human beings, and that meant not killing them unless absolutely necessary.

Vincent finally let loose the blast of flame he had been building. It incinerated the Lost completely, as well as burning a large hole in the dirty linoleum floor. He inspected himself and his cloak carefully, making sure that none of the Lost's drool or blood had gotten on him or his garments.

Tests had been done, and it had been confirmed that the virus could not survive outside of a host body for more than twelve hours, regardless of outside conditions. Furthermore, because of his modifications he was naturally immune to the disease, which made him even more ideal an Inquisitor. Still, he couldn't go walking around with infectious liquids sprayed all over him, regardless of what tests said or what immunities he possessed. It was just common sense.

Out of curiosity, Vincent inspected the thing that the Lost had been eating when he'd arrived. It was indeed a desert-dwelling creature, a large dunemole that had evidently thought the outpost a convenient shelter during the day, when the creatures ordinarily burrowed deep into the sand to escape the heat. This one had chosen its place of refuge poorly.

Only two questions remained for Vincent to answer. What had the scavenger found that he thought would make him rich? Secondly, had the Lost been a native of the outpost – had somebody stumbled in here and been exposed to a direct disease source, or had it migrated from some other place and decided to use the outpost as a lair?

If it was the former, there was a live disease source somewhere in the outpost, and it was Vincent's duty to kill those off wherever he found them. If it was the latter, he still needed to search the outpost for what the scavenger had found, in case it was somehow useful or valuable to the Protectorate.

The command center had been empty, and the restroom area was entirely uninteresting apart from the Lost, which was now less than nothing, so whatever there was to be found had to be in the dormitory. Vincent took a moment to channel some magic through his Restore Materia and give his head a zap with it. Instantly his pounding migraine was reduced to a dull ache, and the trickle of blood that persisted from his ears and nose stopped completely. He pulled out his canteen and wetted his fingers just enough to wipe the blood off of his face.

He reloaded Cerberus as he cautiously walked down the hallway to the dormitory. After the encounter with the Lost, the outpost was completely silent. Vincent's breathing and passage through its corridors were the only sounds that he could hear. Still, he was spooked enough after his brush with death that he kept a hand on his gun and a flame in his palm at all times, element of surprise be damned.

The dormitory was nothing more than a large room with four beds and four desks. As with the command center, the desks had all been emptied, and some had been partially disassembled. The mattresses had been taken from three of the beds; the fourth was still there, but it had had huge holes ripped in it, as though somebody had been looking for something. Bits and pieces of worthless garbage were scattered about the floor.

Vincent inspected every corner of the room and found nothing. He even started the lengthy and arduous process of smoothing out all the little bits of paper that were thrown about, reading the oftentimes incomprehensible messages left on them. Nothing seemed valuable, and Vincent began to think that he had been wrong – perhaps the scavenger had struck it rich at the other site in question, and his own encounter here with a Lost had been plain bad luck. This, of course, meant that there would be another Lost – or, worse yet, a live disease source at the second site, which he was also going to have to deal with.

Then he chanced upon a piece of paper crumpled up and hurled in a far corner of the room, a few inches short of resting beneath one of the beds. He opened it and saw that rather than being just a scrap of paper, this one was a full sheet that had been discarded, and on it was written an extensive message that seemed to be comprised of mostly gibberish.

_lights in the dark can't get them out water lights in the water can't reach arm far enough doesn't touch shines hurts my eyes hunching hunching bones lights can't save me got to stay keep away lights muscle hardens pain save them water is cold no more_

It went on like this for almost the entire page, steadily becoming even more incomprehensible, both in terms of the content and the handwriting, until at least it was entirely unintelligible. Several spots marked the paper at the bottom, grey ones that Vincent would not bet against being dried Lost drool marks.

He wasn't sure what the constant references to lights were, but the multiple instances of hunching, bones, muscles, and so forth – and the way the writing continually degraded – told Vincent that the Lost he had just put down had written this as it was transforming. He inferred that the Lost had contracted the disease elsewhere, stumbled in here to keep from hurting anyone else, and tried to get something down for somebody to find.

So there was no live disease source here, which was good, but Vincent still had no idea what the scavenger had found that he thought would make him rich.

He looked over the piece of paper again, a sudden hunch taking root. This was the only thing of any interest in the entire outpost – save, of course, the Lost. Assuming the Lost was only interested in infecting the scavenger and not being detected, the scavenger would have essentially had free run of the place. What if he had found this paper, read through it, deduced something from it, and then tossed it away in the corner to prevent anyone else from finding it before he came back?

Vincent quickly scoured the room again, and now that he knew what he was looking for, he saw it almost immediately. All of the desks had a thick layer of dust on them, but one of them had a good amount of it displaced, as though a paper had been set down on it and then removed.

Feeling excitement rising in him, Vincent read over the paper again. The only thing that didn't jibe with the rest of the paper was the constant reference to light, which was referred to as being in darkness once and as being in water several times. Mention was also made of not being able to reach…

Something clicked inside his mind, and Vincent immediately headed back into the restroom area. He threw open the doors to all the stalls and looked in the toilets.

It was cool down here in the outpost, even a bit dank, so even after years and years the water in the toilets hadn't evaporated. It had grown cloudy and disgusting, but it was still there, and if Vincent looked closely enough in one of them, he could just barely make out an almost imperceptible glow.

It all made sense. The light in the water. The metamorphosing Lost would have been able to see the light much more easily than Vincent, what with its enormous eyes, but it wouldn't have been able to get its rapidly atrophying arms in deep enough to grab at whatever the lights were. The scavenger, however, had been healthy and uninfected when he'd arrived; and though that was more than Vincent could say for the man once he'd left, he'd obviously had no trouble reaching whatever was stashed in there.

"This is my life," Vincent said to the darkness. "This is what it's come to."

The darkness didn't answer him, but Vincent wasn't expecting it to, so he wasn't particularly disappointed. He shucked his gauntlet, made sure his left arm was very well-secured in its leather sleeve and glove, and made the plunge.

The water was dirty, but fortunately there wasn't anything else to be encountered. For a moment Vincent would have breathed a sigh of relief and maybe murmured a prayer of thanks if he believed in a higher power, but then he remembered that he was still in an abandoned WRO outpost shoving his hand down a toilet and got on with it.

Straining to get his arm further in, Vincent was nearly up to his shoulder in the toilet's bowels before his hand brushed against something solid. It felt hard and smooth, and Vincent wondered if it was Materia. Materia was rare after the Fall, but finding one piece of it wouldn't be enough to make somebody rich. This was either extraordinary Materia or something that only felt like it.

With a little more effort, Vincent managed to get his fingers around the object, which felt circular enough to be Materia. He withdrew his arm from the toilet, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the water streaming off of his leather-clad extremity, but he forgot about his discomfort when he saw what he was holding.

Late in the WRO's life, just a year before the Fall, the organization's R&D department had managed to figure out how to encode electronic data into hardened crystalline matrices to create data crystals. It was an expensive and difficult process, but it was only a small step from there to figuring out how to imprint that same data on Materia instead of simple crystal structures.

Only a few Data Materia, as they were called, had ever been created. The process was even more expensive and difficult than the normal one, and the tech had been all but lost during the Fall. Still, Vincent knew without a doubt that Data Materia was what he held. It glowed like a magic Materia, but it had a staggeringly complex inner structure, like a million snowflakes overlaid and merged into one grand design. The advantage to Data Materia over regular data crystals was that the Materia not only had its own innate magical properties, but due to its unique molecular structure it could hold hundreds of times more information than any crystal of equivalent size and density.

No wonder the scavenger had said that he was rich. A private collector would pay millions, perhaps even billions, to possess a Data Materia. How it had come to be here in the first place he had no idea, but during the Fall the outpost must have come under attack and the Data Materia must have been stashed by a WRO soldier in the toilet in an attempt to keep it from the attacking forces. The scavenger, however many decades later, found it right after the Lost did, examined it, and put it back where he'd found it until he could go to town, locate a buyer, and then retrieve it. It made sense; if the town had gotten wind that he'd had a Data Materia on him, they would have organized a posse to kill him and ransom the object to the highest bidder.

The information on the Materia would only be accessible via a computer with the proper hardware, and the only one he knew of that still worked was at Protectorate headquarters, back in Old Nibelheim.

Vincent merged the Materia with himself, watching it sink into his arm next to his mastered Fire Materia. Power instantly rippled through him and he knew that he was in possession of a Destruct Materia, and a mastered one at that. Whoever had owned it before and perhaps even after it became a Data Materia had obviously gotten a lot of use out of it.

With one last look at the still-smoldering hole in the ground where the Lost had been, Vincent strode out of the bathroom and back towards the command center and the exit.

He had an appointment with a computer in Old Nibelheim.


	3. Chapter 3

New Gongaga was far enough away from Old Nibelheim and the Protectorate headquarters that Vincent felt justified in calling in a request for rapid pickup. Walking back would take two weeks, getting a dunebike or other form of transportation would still take about five days. He needed to know what was on the Data Materia. It could have all sorts of useful information, libraries' worth of technical data or medical knowledge. The sooner he got it analyzed, the sooner its contents could be used to help people.

He stood outside the town's protective wall, staring up at the night sky, waiting for his ride to arrive. The sky, dominated as it was by the bulk of the sun during the day, was beautiful at night, filled with an infinite expanse of stars. The constellations had moved, though; when the planet had been pushed out of its previous orbit and closer to the sun, resulting in the destructive climate change, its poles had also been thrown askew, changing the view of the sky that one could get at any given point in the world.

The silence of the night was interrupted by a distant sound, quiet at first, which grew louder and louder until it blossomed into a storm of noise. A Protectorate attack transport roared over the highest dune in sight, flying low to the ground in order to minimize visibility – which was standard procedure when approaching a city.

The sleek black craft had a long chassis ending in a snub nose and a cockpit that gave the pilot maximum forward visibility. The craft had two large wings, inside of which were the rotors keeping it aloft while jet engines in the rear propelled it forward. It was an amazing piece of tech, one of the few that had survived the Fall. Because of that, the Protectorate was able to reproduce them en masse, or at least in numbers as great as limited resources permitted at any given time.

Vincent held up a hand to protect his eyes as the craft settled down only a few dozen feet from him, its twin rotors blowing dust and sand up from beneath it. He hustled towards the transport and saw the cockpit swing open to reveal a familiar face.

"I didn't know if they'd still let you fly one of these things, after what happened last time," he said with a half-smile.

Red XIII bared his teeth at Vincent in his approximation of a friendly grin. "It's good to see you too, Vincent," he said, sarcasm only coloring his tone a little bit. "And nothing happened last time. All I did was crash."

Vincent rolled his eyes as he hopped into the recessed passenger's seat located behind the pilot's. "That's hardly comforting." He watched the cockpit swing closed again, and the ground began to shrink away as Red XIII eased the transport back into the air.

The beast didn't operate the controls with his paws or tail. Taking a cue from Reeve's Cait Sith technology, he had constructed a set of prosthetic arms that he controlled in the same way Reeve controlled his annoying talking moogle. The arms, which were spindly metal things with three grasping digits at their ends, were attached to a generator pack, strapped to Red XIII. He wore it on his back, the net result being that he had two arms protruding from directly above his forelegs. Red XIII sat in the pilot's seat like he would sit anywhere else, managing to fit despite how cramped it was – the only concession made to accommodate him was moving the yaw pedals up to where he could access them with his arms.

The arms were quite precise, more than capable of letting Red XIII operate delicate equipment like the attack transport and similar vehicles. A few months ago, there had been an aerial skirmish with some raiders that had managed to cobble together a makeshift group of fighters, and Red XIII's transport had gotten one of its wings shot off. He'd crashed but gotten out of it without a scratch. Still, it had become a running joke to give him flak about the incident.

"I see the arms are holding up just fine," Vincent said.

"Of course."

"You think you'll still use them after this is over?"

Red XIII delicately directed the transport around, pitching it to one side and pulling it around in the direction of Old Nibelheim. "If by 'this' you mean the post-Fall state of the world, then 'this' may never be over… but yes, one day I hope I won't have to use them anymore. They're too unnatural for me to ever be comfortable with them." He grunted and said, "There. We're now officially en route to Old Nibelheim, ETA three hours, forty-four minutes." He keyed in the autopilot and craned his head around to look at Vincent. "So. What's this important development that you couldn't mention to Yuffie over the mobile transmitter?"

Vincent held up his arm and unbound the Data Materia from himself. It rose out of his palm, glowing in the relative dark of the cockpit, and he handed it to Red XIII. The beast took it with one of his prosthetic arms and examined it closely, his eye reflecting the sphere's glow. "Astonishing," he said. "An actual Data Materia. Where did you find this?"

"The first site Yuffie directed me to," Vincent replied. "This is what had the scavenger convinced that he was going to be filthy rich. The economy obviously isn't what it used to be, but he still could have been made for life if he'd managed to auction it off to somebody rich enough."

"Agreed," Red XIII said, handing the Data Materia back to Vincent. "The fact that a Data Materia should still exist – and that it should be found in an abandoned WRO outpost that had obviously been searched dozens of times! What are the chances?"

"You tell me," Vincent replied. "What are the chances of even the most desperate scavenger sticking his hand down a toilet unless he knew something was there?"

Red XIII was silent for a moment, and then he said, "You didn't."

Vincent said nothing.

The beast started making a peculiar chuffing sound that Vincent had learned fifty years ago to recognize as his laugh. "Oh, that's quite the image. I hope it wasn't too traumatic an experience."

"After the Lost that nearly killed me, not really," Vincent replied.

Red XIII stopped laughing. "There was a Lost there?"

"Not native. Some clues I found at the site indicate that it had become infected farther out and had only managed to make it there before it was too far into the transformation to go any further."

"Clues such as?"

Vincent produced the piece of paper on which the Lost had chronicled its last intelligible thoughts, if the term could be used. "This."

Red XIII took only a minute to read the paper, and he looked troubled after he handed it back to Vincent. "That's… awful."

"Indeed."

"At least it led you to the Data Materia. We may be able to derive some good from the poor creature's fate."

"Right." Vincent gazed out of the cockpit's windscreen at the trackless wastes that sped by beneath them, illuminated only by faint starlight. "It wasn't just a poor creature, though. It used to be a human being."

"It was a poor creature when you killed it," Red XIII said reprovingly. "Or do you need to be reminded of that, _Inquisitor_ Valentine?"

Vincent glared at the back of the beast's head. "Don't play games with me, _Inquisitor_ XIII," he said. "You know I'm just as much an expert on the Losts and the disease as you are. I don't need to be reminded of anything."

"Of course not," Red XIII replied. "My mistake."

Neither had anything more to say, so Vincent settled into his seat and continued to gaze out the windscreen at the night. As the only other effectively immortal member of the Protectorate, Red XIII had been a natural choice as an Inquisitor. He wasn't immortal in the same sense as Vincent, of course, but his great lifespan guaranteed that barring unforeseeable circumstances he would be around for quite some time.

Eventually, Vincent drifted off to sleep.

* * *

He woke when the transport jolted to a stop on one of the landing pads outside Protectorate Headquarters. Vincent gazed up at the building, which was, of course, intimately familiar to him.

The Shin-Ra mansion had been convenient, big enough to house command staff, and had an extensive basement in which to store sensitive equipment and conduct affairs of state. The rest of the town, most of which had survived the Fall, had been commandeered and converted into a supply and military center in addition to remaining a residential area.

Vincent hopped out of the cockpit of the chopper, leaving Red XIII to run through its postflight checklist and power-down sequences. A number of technicians who worked the graveyard shift – it was close to four in the morning – rushed out of the mansion and headed for the landing pad.

"See you later," Vincent called back to Red XIII, who returned the sentiment. He strode toward the mansion, pausing to glance at the four headstones set in the lawn in front of the building.

Cloud Strife. Tifa Lockhart. Barret Wallace. Cid Highwind. Vincent's mouth twisted into a frown and he swept on ahead, memories filling his mind.

Nobody knew what had happened to Cloud. In two months, it was going to be forty-five years to the day since the Fall, and that would mark how long he had been missing, presumed dead. The fire had fallen from the skies, the WRO had dissolved in on itself, chaos had reigned until a modicum of control was finally reestablished… and then the disease came to the planet. Somewhere in there, Cloud had disappeared from the face of the world.

Without him, Tifa had just sort of quietly faded away. She'd kept on living and fighting, but something that had once been there had disappeared and never quite come back. Less than a decade after the Fall, she'd died protecting a burgeoning settlement in the Wastes from a veritable army of raiders. AVALANCHE – they'd still called themselves that back then, not the Protectorate – had moved in after the fact and smashed the raiders so thoroughly that not a single one had survived.

Barret had lived well into his sixties, raising Marlene and doing what he could in the harsh new Gaea after the Fall, but eventually he had died of natural causes – a long, hard life having taken its toll on him.

Cid, despite what everyone had expected, had not died of lung cancer. The pilot had made it into his seventies, displaying a powerful vitality, and might still have been alive today if Shera hadn't been killed in a raid on Rocket Town by the paramilitary forces of the Outcasts, a powerful rebel group that had been a serious threat at the time. Cid had proceeded to take the _Shera_ , which he'd lovingly kept operational even after the Fall, and to crash it at full speed into the Outcasts' headquarters. Her reactors had gone up in an explosion big enough to level a mountain, the ship's namesake had been avenged, and Cid had died on his own terms, just like he'd always said he wanted to.

Needless to say, the Outcasts hadn't remained a threat after that.

Vincent threw open the doors to the mansion and was greeted by Cait Sith, or at least one of them. "Good to see you again, Vincent," the robot said, peppy as usual. "Reeve's asleep right now, but I'm sure I can attend to whatever it is you need."

"Of course," Vincent replied. He didn't like the robot very much and never had; a puppet that could operate independently of its master was a bit unnerving to him. "I need the old data-crystal analyzer. I have… well." He reached into his cloak and produced the Data Materia.

Cait Sith's eyes widened and he whistled. "That's one honker of a Data Materia you got there, Vincent. You want any help analyzing it?"

"I think I'll be fine, thanks," Vincent said, trying not to sound too brusque. "Just make sure I'm not disturbed. We don't need any nonessential personnel seeing this and getting ideas."

"Agreed. Nobody's working in the old tech section for the next three hours, but if you need longer than that I'll do some shift rescheduling."

"Thanks." Vincent brushed by the robot and began to ascend the stairs up to the room that led down into the basement, clutching the Data Materia in his hand.

He turned a corner and almost ran smack into Yuffie. She was dressed in a nightgown and had her hands on her hips.

"This better be important, Vincent," she said, "for you to show up at four in the morning without any explanation – and after calling for an airlift on top of that."

He smiled tightly at her and hefted the Data Materia, which she recognized after only a second of staring at it. "You're joking. That's amazing. You're sure it's real?"

"The scavenger that found it first certainly thought it was," Vincent replied. "Besides, we're about to find out for ourselves. Care to accompany me down to the basement?"

"Really, Vince. You haven't taken me on a date in so long, I don't know what to say. And to such an interesting place…"

He rolled his eyes and swept past her, hearing her pad across the carpet in her slippers after him. The door to the spiral staircase was always open these days, no longer secret; they stepped through and began descending into the basement.

"What do you think could be on it?" Yuffie asked.

"I have no idea," Vincent replied. "I just didn't want to spare any time getting here to analyze it."

They reached the bottom of the stairs and proceeded through the tunnel towards the area where the lab had been. Over the years, AVALANCHE – later the Protectorate – had cleared every last monster out of the mansion and the underground warrens, expanded the basement considerably, and installed in the caverns every piece of WRO tech they'd been able to recover.

The data crystal analyzer was in the original basement area, which still had the shelves and shelves of books on the JENOVA project – by this point a foul and distant memory. As far as anyone knew, Cloud had been the last human being alive with the Calamity still in his veins, and he'd been gone for more than four decades.

It also still had the table to which Hojo had strapped Vincent as he'd experimented on him. They'd chosen not to get rid of it because it made for a good workspace, but only after Vincent had said he didn't want it gone. He was never comfortable when he saw the thing, but he refused to let Hojo have a last word of any sort, even one as insignificant as removing a table.

He pushed it out of his mind and moved to the analyzer computer, which was in a corner of the room between an unused portable Materia-powered reactor and a pile of repair parts for Cait Siths should the automatons run afoul of trouble.

Yuffie returned from the other end of the basement with a pair of chairs for them, and Vincent sat down as he powered up the analyzer computer. For such a massively complex device, operating it was simple. Vincent popped open the analyzer port once the machine reported that it was ready, inserted the Data Materia, closed the port, and entered the proper command.

The computer hummed and took a minute to digest what Vincent had given it, and then it reported that there was quite a bit of information stored on the Materia – many different forms, in fact. He scrolled through a list, and what immediately caught his eye was that a good deal of it was related to something called Project R.

"Project R?" Yuffie asked. "I was head of Intelligence and Espionage for the WRO, and I never heard of any Project R. What about you, Vince?"

"If you don't know it, then I don't," Vincent replied. "I remember reading about Project G, and S, and all the other letters that Shin-Ra used, but never R." He scrolled to a random file and opened it, and it turned out to be a shipping schedule of some sort. "Looks like whatever Project R was, they were moving a lot of materiel." He opened another file at random, then another, seeing only lists of numbers that were probably quite outdated and useless by this point. He opened another file, saw something he only half-recognized, moved on, and then stopped dead.

He hit the back button on the keyboard and stared at the file he had almost skipped over entirely. It was a three-dimensional representation of a molecular structure, and while he wasn't a chemist, he recognized the disease when he saw it.

"I don't understand," Yuffie said. "Why would a decades-old Data Materia have a molecular schematic of the disease on it?"

Vincent flipped back through the shipping schedules, a horrible suspicion growing in his gut. He stared hard at the numbers, putting them in a context he could understand. "Yuffie," he said, "these numbers… suppose that they represented gallons of the disease?"

"You're not serious."

He looked at her. "Do I look like I'm joking?"

"That would be enough to infect everybody on the entire planet."

Vincent swore softly and kept paging through the files on the Data Materia. The fact that it was a Destruct Materia suddenly seemed very fitting. "We've always known from the molecular structure of the disease that it was manmade, or at least started out that way before it evolved," he said quietly. "But we always thought it was some radical underground group that had been developing a biological weapon that got loose in the chaos of the Fall."

"Do you think…?"

"Do me a favor and pull up a geographical analysis of the disease's spread in the aftermath of the Fall," he said. "Doesn't have to be entirely accurate, but we need some idea of the general progression."

Yuffie nodded. "There should be a database in the next cavern over that'll have the necessary information. I'll be right back."

Vincent kept moving through the files, some of which were logs of test-subject observations – his stomach twisted – and dissertations of a similar nature. Clearly, he'd hit upon something extraordinary when he'd discovered this Data Materia. There might be enough here to aid Protectorate scientists in creating a counter-agent to the disease, a prospect that had eluded them ever since it had made its presence known.

Yuffie returned with a map of the world, color-coded to show disease origin points and its resulting spread. Vincent looked at it, then cross-referenced it with destinations listed in the shipping schedules.

"There can no longer be any doubt," he said. "Whoever was behind Project R engineered the disease and spread it through WRO channels. There was a conspiracy within our own ranks."

Yuffie sucked air in through her teeth in a sharp hiss. "I can't believe it. The WRO's disintegration seemed like a combination of external forces and a loss of personnel. To think that a conspiracy might have been responsible…"

"Oh, the dissolution of the WRO was definitely a result of those factors, as well as more than a dozen others," Vincent said. "I'm sure that whoever these people were, though, they certainly helped the processes along." Feeling anger mounting at the futility of knowing this so long after the fact, he kept pressing the forward button, harder and harder, until he was practically slamming his fist against the keyboard, the table shaking with every blow. "DAMMIT!"

Yuffie put a hand on his shoulder, and he forced himself to be calm. "It's… I mean, it's not all right, Vince, we both know that, but there's nothing we can do about it. You should get some sleep and come back to analyzing this later today when you're rested."

"Fine," Vincent said. "I suppose you're right." He looked back up at the display and saw that the file to which he had scrolled was a video file, and the face in front of the camera…

" _Sei cào,_ " Yuffie breathed.

It was Cloud, eyes closed, sealed into what looked like a stasis capsule. Vincent hit the play button, and the video started.

"As you can see, Strife tried to interfere with the project once we had him here, but we managed to incapacitate him long enough to seal him inside," a voice from behind the camera said. "This is much better than killing him – if the project pans out the way we expect, we can see how the last true JENOVA cells on Gaea interact with it. We've therefore secured his pod to an independent power supply that should keep him nice and cozy for at least fifty years… not that we're going to wait that long, but you know. Can't hurt."

The camera panned away from Cloud to reveal an entire room full of similar stasis pods. The speaker, who was definitely holding the camera, began walking by the pods, commenting on their various inhabitants as he passed them. "As you can see, infected specimens placed in stasis continue to metamorphose; the project is evidently immune to environmental factors as long as it's in a host body, which is exactly what we wanted. Of course, the transformations themselves aren't exactly right –" the speaker paused as he passed by a pod with what was definitely a proto-Lost horribly contorted inside it – "but I'm confident that we'll be able to lock down that problem within the year. Doctor Clauberg out."

The video ended there, and Vincent and Yuffie stared at it for a second before Vincent said, "We need to figure out where that video was taken. I'm not stopping until we do. This is incredible. If it's true, then Cloud…"

Yuffie nodded emphatically. "Absolutely. If we can just maybe get a location, a name, something, we can find him."

Nothing more needed to be said. They started going through every scrap of data on the Materia, all thoughts of sleep forgotten. They were one clue, one little piece of information, away from knowing where to find Cloud.

Cloud, who was – if the doctor was to be believed – very much alive.


	4. Chapter 4

It took them the better part of eight hours to get even the foggiest idea of where the place in the video might be located, but after seemingly endless speculation, observation, cross-referencing, and brute-force calculation, they narrowed the area down to Midgar.

All of it.

Vincent stared at the result of their intensive analysis, a rough red line scrawled around Midgar on a map. Looking at it made him want to kill something.

"I could spend the rest of the century searching Midgar for one building and never find it, especially if it's well-hidden," Vincent said. "We need to narrow things down even further or I'm not going to be able to find Cloud."

"If he's still alive," Red XIII said. The beast had joined them midway through their investigation and had been quite helpful, but he was tending toward pessimism on the subject of Cloud's continued life.

"There's no sense in giving up on him before we've even started looking," Yuffie said. "Look, if he's dead we're no worse off, but if he's alive, just think how happy everybody'll be!"

"Happy," Vincent murmured. "Half of AVALANCHE gone, Tifa among them… No matter what we feel like, Cloud certainly won't be happy."

"What, you think we should just leave him there?" Yuffie asked, alarm registering on her features.

"Of course not. I'm just trying to think ahead to how he's going to handle coming back into the world forty-five years later."

"Hey, Vincent."

Vincent turned around to find himself face-to-face with Marlene.

The girl had grown up into a beautiful young woman, but as the years in post-Fall Gaea had passed and her friends and father had died, she'd become harder, colder, less open. Now she was in her fifties, having only been four at the time of Sephiroth's defeat, and she looked like she had seen far too much that she would rather forget. She looked as Vincent might imagine Aerith to look, had she gotten to be this old, but without the latter's gentleness or ethereal presence. Marlene was one of the chief mechanics of the Protectorate, and always wore a grime-covered jumpsuit and cut her hair short. Her brown eyes were flinty, and any hints of the girlishness she had once displayed were long since gone.

"Marlene," he said. He remembered when she'd used to call him 'Uncle Valentine,' with a sort of awe and respect in her voice. Now it was just 'Vincent,' and both the awe and respect were gone. "Can we help you?"

"Whatever you've been doing, it's been using up a lot of the headquarters' power reserve," Marlene said flatly. "Are you almost done? If you keep this up, it'll interfere with routine activity."

Vincent looked back at the printout, Midgar circled in red. "Yes, we're about done for today," he said, an idea percolating in his mind. "Sorry to have necessitated your coming down here."

"Don't worry too much about it," Marlene said, but there was no sincerity in her tone. "I have work to do, so I'll get out of your hair now." She nodded to Yuffie and Red XIII and then started back towards the spiral stairs.

When she had gone, Red XIII mused, "What is it with her? For years now she's been so cold toward the two of us, Vincent. Haven't you noticed?"

"It's simple," Yuffie said, also looking down the passage to the stairs. "Vince doesn't age; and Red, you might not be immortal, but you're not really getting any older, are you?"

"I age as the years pass."

"But your skin isn't getting wrinkly, your bones don't ache when there's a storm coming on, and your boobs aren't sagging."

"I should hope not," Red XIII said a bit more huffily than absolutely necessary. "But I suppose I see your point. Aging… when people you are close to aren't subject to the same restrictions of time as you are, it must be difficult."

"Sometimes," Yuffie replied. "Only sometimes." Her gaze had moved to Vincent, who was looking intently at the map. "You figuring something out, Vince?"

"Deepground," he said.

"What about it?" she asked. "We put them down forty-seven years ago and the place has been deserted ever since."

"Or so we assumed," Vincent said. "Midgar is in shambles. It would be extraordinarily expensive and difficult to set up the kind of base necessary to conduct operations on the scale we're discussing here – and if we add secrecy as a necessity, the prospect becomes even more impossible. However, despite the damage we did, with the exception of its mako reactors Deepground was left relatively intact. All that empty space, nobody using it, nobody making sure that nobody uses it…" He trailed off and shrugged.

"You know, I bet you're right," Yuffie said slowly. "I mean, if these guys had the balls to make the disease, I wouldn't put setting up in Deepground past them. The only thing is Midgar isn't called the City of Death for nothing these days."

"We could insert you close to a Deepground entry point," Red XIII mused, "but that still leaves the matter of whatever might have taken up residence there in the nearly five decades since it last saw use. Monsters, outcasts… Losts." He almost whispered the last word.

"I think I'll be able to take care of myself," Vincent said, giving Cerberus a light pat. "Besides, relatively speaking, while Deepground may stretch over the same amount of land as Midgar, in terms of the area I'll have to search, it's many degrees of magnitude smaller. It'll be a matter of weeks, not months or years."

"I still don't like the idea of you going in alone," Yuffie said. "Take a team with you, or a Combat Cait Sith…"

"I'd rather walk into a den of Losts than work with one of those damn things," Vincent replied, lip curling. "I've been in Deepground before. It's not as though it'll be unfamiliar territory."

"Don't get overconfident," Red XIII said warningly. "In all probability, things have changed."

"I'm counting on it." Vincent looked at the map one more time. "I wouldn't want my return visit to be boring, after all."

* * *

Midgar became larger in the distance as Red XIII piloted the transport closer and closer to the dead city. "Remember," he said. "Your mobile transmitter probably won't function once you've gotten far enough into Deepground – too much in the way of the signal. We can't spare you for any more than a month; you have that long to get in, find Cloud if possible, and get out. If you haven't been able to locate him, we still need you back. Of course, if it doesn't take you a month, get back out and call us."

"Right," Vincent said. "Don't worry. You'll be seeing me again before you know it."

"I'm sure. Now, we need to make a close pass over the city and drop you near the selected entry point. I'm not putting this transport down on the ground in there."

"Understood." Vincent pulled his pack onto his back, made sure it was secure, and got ready.

Red XIII buzzed a group of strange-looking, vaguely avian creatures that had congregated on the rooftop of a building within a mile or so of the place Vincent had to get to. He popped the cockpit and said, "Good hunting."

"See you," Vincent said. He leaped ten feet down to the building's roof, landing in a crouch, hand on Cerberus. He flicked his gaze to the attack transport and watched Red XIII pilot the craft up and away. As the roar of the craft faded away, Vincent realized he could hear something else, some kind of cracking.

His danger sense flared just as the roof gave out beneath his feet. He fell an entire story to the floor below, which also crumbled when he hit it, and continued in this fashion for ten more stories until he finally landed hard on the massive pile of rubble that had been building up beneath him the entire time. More debris followed him, and Vincent rolled out of the way just in time to avoid getting crushed by a large chunk of flooring.

He hadn't been in Midgar for more than a minute and something had already gone wrong. He sighed and checked his pack, making sure that everything was fine. Fortunately, he had been landing on his feet or front side the entire time, so the pack and its contents were undamaged.

Vincent dusted himself off and walked outside. The sun was still high in the sky; dropping Vincent in at high noon had been a choice of Red XIII's, who assumed correctly that most of the things in Midgar they wanted to avoid would only come out in darkness.

Small animals skittered out of his way, and a large, flightless bird tried to quarrel with him about his invading its territory. A three-round burst into its diminutive brain convinced it otherwise, and Vincent stepped over its still-twitching carcass as he walked down the street. He'd brought plenty of ammo; he could spare one shot.

The Deepground entry point in question was the original one – Vincent remembered watching the news broadcast like it was yesterday, seeing people walking down into the huge tunnel, blithely heading towards their doom. He shook off the memories and stayed cautious as he arrived at the entrance. It was deserted, as he had been counting on, but there was no accounting for what might be inside.

Vincent took one last breath of relatively fresh air and headed in.

* * *

Compared to Midgar, Deepground was indeed quite small; Vincent hadn't been mistaken in that analysis. However, the fact of the matter was that Deepground was still an enormous place, and searching it from stem to stern, if the term could be used, would take far more than a month. Therefore, Vincent was going on several general assumptions about the location of any base that would have been established in the great underground warrens.

It would have to be deep inside, for one. There was no sense establishing a subterranean base close to the surface if secrecy was the aim. The architects of the disease, whoever they had been, would have based themselves as close to the heart of Deepground as possible – they might even have simply set up shop there and expanded outwards as needs dictated.

Since it had to be so deep in, the base would have to have some kind of rapid transit to make reaching it in a timely fashion possible. Vincent recalled vast railways with mining carts and other similar vehicles mounted on it. It might be a bit of a task to restore power to a large enough section for him to use, but he was betting that enough jolts from a Lighting Materia would get him where he needed to go.

Finally, Vincent was counting on the fact that the base would have been relatively secure. That might mean it was harder for him to get into, but that applied to everyone – and everything – in here. If it had been abandoned with all its doors wide open and its security measures deactivated, everything that could get in would get in, and nothing much would be left for Vincent to find… particularly in the case of Cloud.

He banished the unsettling imagery of his friend, insensate, being devoured by Losts or whatever else might happen to have cracked open his stasis pod. Now was not the time.

The going was not as difficult as he expected it to be. Deepground had held up relatively well over the last forty-odd years. The passages were still in place, and though many of them had corroded and grown rusty, they were still serviceable.

Several days passed as Vincent wound his way through lightless passages, searching for some sign of rails, tracks, anything. Once he found those, it would be a simple matter of following them to a station, and from there his task grew simpler still – getting the systems into enough working order to have the trams take him, he hoped, straight to the abandoned base. He ran into several unpleasant inhabitants of the place while he was searching, but none of them were too much trouble.

None of them were Losts.

On his fifth day back in Deepground, Vincent turned a corner in yet another hallway, his patience beginning to wear just a bit thin, and he suddenly found himself in what looked like an underground transfer junction, complete with rails. It didn't have the controls of a proper station, but the rails were good enough. He took a moment to let satisfaction spread through him like a warm glow before he leaped down onto the tracks and started following them further into Deepground. He didn't know how long this might take, but eventually he would run into a station that he would be able to repair.

Barring that, he could just follow the tracks all the way into the heart of Deepground. The thought hadn't occurred to him at first, but now he realized it might just be the most efficacious way to go about his mission. Then he thought about the return trip, which would hopefully include Cloud, and then he thought about his supplies. He didn't need to eat or drink nearly as much as normal human beings did, and he could go without nourishment of any sort for two weeks or more without any significant impairment of his functions; but Cloud, despite his own modifications, would need to eat. No, getting a tram or cart into working condition was the order of the day.

He was so absorbed in the specifics of the task that lay before him and the minute details that he didn't hear the strange clicking sound until it was only a few dozen feet from him. He paused and felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to rise. He'd been in a long stretch of tunnel for at least half an hour now; surely nothing living in Deepground made its home here.

Something was stalking him.

Vincent whirled, drawing Cerberus with his right hand and conjuring a flame with his left. The fire illuminated something for a split second before whatever it was withdrew soundlessly and with alarming alacrity beyond the range of the flame. Vincent muttered a curse under his breath; his darkvision didn't work if there was light around, and even if he extinguished his flame he'd only be able to see an outline of the thing. He really, really didn't want to be in the dark with whatever this creature was, but in the same instant he knew that keeping a flame conjured at all times was a very poor tactical decision.

He let the flame go out and saw that whatever the creature was, it had vanished. The tunnel was empty except for him.

With a frown, Vincent turned around and nearly smacked into a pair of saucer-sized, black eyes.

The Lost grinned at him, displaying a mouthful of wickedly sharp, serrated canines and a tongue as long as his forearm that lolled horribly out from its maw and constantly dripped black liquid. Vincent instantly leapt away from the Lost and looked it over. This was different from the one he had fought in the WRO outpost. Its head was level with his because its torso had been twisted and bloated until it was several times bigger than Vincent's. Where arms and legs should be – they started out normally, but at the point where the elbows and the knees should be, long, wicked claw-legs of hardened bone split painfully out of the skin and extended all the way to the ground, six feet below. The net effect was something like a giant, grotesque spider with what used to be a human head.

All this took a split second for Vincent to analyze, and during that split second he was bringing Cerberus to bear on the Lost's head. He squeezed the trigger and blew the quasi-spider's head off.

It stood there, almost as though it was surprised, as the stump where its head used to be bled viscous fluid and smoked a little. Vincent hesitated, wondering what was going on, and then swore as the Lost lashed out with one of its claw-legs, broadsiding him across the torso and slamming him painfully into the side of the tunnel. He managed to land on his feet, and before his eyes the stump closed up and stopped bleeding as a new head grew on the top of the spider's hugely bloated abdomen. First the neck sprouted up out of the cracked and warped flesh, and then the head budded out of that. After that came first a jaw full of teeth, then the tongue thrust itself out, then the dome of the skull stiffened up and eyes exploded out from beneath the flesh.

Vincent shot that head off too, only to see that four more were growing, all at different points on the spider's abdomen. He dodged to the side as the spider lifted up a claw-leg and tried to impale him on it, then ducked beneath the massive torso, firing up into it as he moved, and started running down the tracks as fast as he could.

It obviously wasn't fast enough. The spider galloped after him, its movement eerily silent except for the clicking of its claw-legs on the metal ground – it didn't breathe, didn't hiss or make any vocalizations like the Lost at the outpost.

Vincent had never seen one like this. The kind of Lost he'd fought at the outpost was a dime a dozen, what was called the 'standard' mutation. There were many known variations, of course, depending upon genetic factors of the people who caught the disease, but this…

He hurled a fireball over his shoulder. It exploded seemingly harmlessly against the Lost's body, not even burning it. A bolt of lightning produced a similar result, not slowing the creature down. It overtook him, and Vincent ducked beneath a horizontal swing that would have bisected him through the chest. It followed up with a stab from its other frontal claw-leg, coming too fast to dodge. Vincent brought up his gauntleted hand in a balled fist and smashed it against the incoming bone, diverting it far enough to the right that it missed and hit nothing but empty air. The spider stumbled forward as it overextended itself, and Vincent emptied a pair of three-round bursts into the spot where the bone erupted out of the flesh. The shots didn't seem to have any effect.

It managed to recover its balance and then tried something risky. It slammed its front claws deep into the ground and thrust forward with both hind claws, swinging its grotesquely bloated torso forward, putting its weight on its front claws. Vincent seized his opening, twisting out of the way of the strike, and emptied Cerberus not at the point where the bone protruded from the flesh but instead at where the shoulder socket should have been on a normal human being.

Ordinarily the bullets might not have done much except irritate the spider, but with all its weight on the joint, the added tension made the bullets crack the bone. The spider shrieked out of all six of its mouths – a seventh one was in the process of growing and joined the cacophony several seconds later – as it collapsed onto its side, unable to keep its balance.

Its limbs were definitely its weak point, but applying force across a relatively small area with bullets wasn't going to do anything – and even as Vincent watched, he could see the bone knitting itself back together beneath the flesh. The Lost would soon be able to stand up again, no doubt.

Acting on a wild impulse, Vincent surged forward, holstering Cerberus. He grabbed the claw-leg with the broken socket and started to pull, hard. The Lost shrieked even louder, and every head that could craned around to stare at him with terrible black eyes. Vincent groaned with the effort, but he pulled as hard as he could. He could feel the bone being pulled from the still-broken socket, but it wasn't free yet, he needed to pull harder, harder –

With a roar, Vincent ripped the claw-leg right off of the Lost's shoulder, tearing away a good chunk of flesh as he did so. Black blood spewed everywhere but Vincent didn't let his momentum flag. He faced the opposite tunnel wall, which was about eight feet away, and sprinted at it still holding the claw-leg in both hands. At the last possible second he launched himself into the air, felt the soles of his boots hit the wall, and he kept going, running ten feet up the wall before he felt gravity start to reassert itself.

That was fine by him. Vincent launched off the wall and sent himself into a reverse somersault, the endpoint of which was right on top of the Lost. He pulled the claw-leg around until it was pointing down and let gravity take care of the rest.

Vincent plunged the sharp extremity straight down into the Lost's torso. He felt it ripping through flesh, bone, and what he assumed were multiple organs until there was a sudden impact that told him the bone had hit the metal floor. Vincent felt a tugging sensation coming from his left foot and saw that one of the heads had sunk its fangs into the thick, tough leather of his boot. He wrestled himself free with a quick twist and then viciously kicked the head clean off of the Lost's bloated bulk.

The creature struggled against its own limb impaling it, but Vincent wasn't done. He raised his gauntleted hand again, clenching it into a fist, and punched the top of the leg-claw as hard as he could, hammering it deeper into the floor. The Lost wouldn't stop shrieking and the wound was spurting hot, black blood, but Vincent kept hammering away with single-minded determination for a good minute until he had driven the bone spike at least a foot into the floor beneath, securing the creature as effectively as he could.

He leaped off of the Lost, landing deftly on the floor several feet away, turned back to face it, and raised his right arm, pointing a finger at it. Vincent closed his eyes and focused, began to gather the energy necessary for an incinerating strike.

He snapped his eyes back open when he heard a horrible ripping sound. The Lost was dragging itself across the floor towards him with its other claw-legs, ignoring the leg that it was impaled on, and it was tearing itself apart to do it. Multiple heads on its relative front side gnashed their teeth and shrieked at him, and suddenly the rear half of its torso split open like a rotten fruit, freeing it from the bone spike.

Vincent swore and fired off what he had of the incinerating blast, which wasn't more than halfway done. The flame, blue in color but not quite white yet, laid into the Lost and reduced its entire front side and all the heads there to blackened char. Despite its massive wounds, the thing kept coming. It dragged itself determinedly along the tracks toward him, leaking huge amounts of blood and other, unrecognizable things that Vincent didn't want to think about.

Settling on another decisive move, Vincent rushed forward, planted a foot in its charred and burnt front side, and used the leverage to vault over the rest of its body. He landed behind it, whirled, and extended a hand, ready to pour lightning bolts into the gaping wound in the rear half of the Lost.

He stopped dead when he saw something inside the bloated torso, something that was twitching and moving in a way that did not seem at all consistent with internal organs.

Many somethings.

Knowing he would regret it but realizing that he had to know what the hell those things were, Vincent changed tactics and conjured another flame to give him some light to see by.

What greeted him was far worse than anything he could have thought of while facing the creature in the dark. The Lost's gaping torso was full of twitching, spasming, writhing, grasping… fetuses.

There was no doubt that they were fetuses. The half-formed features, the soft skin… he would have almost thought them normal if they didn't have the huge, entirely black eyes that were characteristic of the Lost. For a moment he just stood there, stunned, unable to process what exactly he was seeing.

Then the Lost started dragging itself backward toward him, and all of the fetuses stopped their random twitching and jerked their half-formed heads around to focus on him.

That was what made Vincent snap. He screamed, long and loud and harsh, and then pumped a fireball into their horrid, staring eyes.

The Lost's scream drowned out his own, but Vincent didn't stop. He kept screaming, hurling fireball after fireball into the creature's guts, trying to burn away the awful, soulless eyes that were fixed on him. He finally gained enough presence of mind to charge halfway up to an incinerator blast. That took a few seconds, during which the Lost jerked close enough to lash out feebly at him with one of its claw-legs. He threw up his gauntlet and blocked without even thinking about it, and then he loosed another hot blue blast into the Lost's innards.

This approach was much more effective than trying to incinerate it from the outside. All the heads on the Lost exploded into shreds of flesh and black mist, and the creature finally stopped trying to move – instead collapsing to the ground, limp and dead.

Vincent fell to his knees and started to throw up. He heaved and retched until there was absolutely nothing of substance left in his stomach, and then he continued to heave bile for another minute after that before he was finally able to stop shuddering and get himself under control.

He collapsed into a sitting position and shakily got out his canteen, then drank a little water to kill the foul taste in his mouth. After he had returned himself to a state of calm – or at least as close as he could come after fighting that thing – he got back to his feet, brushed past the carcass, and kept walking.

It was just as well that he didn't need much sleep. He was going to be having nightmares for years.


	5. Chapter 5

Several hours later, Vincent came to a station on the rails, complete with several carts for the transportation of personnel or materiel. When he inspected the carts he found, much to his pleasant surprise, that they were self-powered. After a little coaxing with his Lightning Materia, he had all three of them working. He linked them together – in case one of them failed, the other two would keep going – and started them toward what he hoped was the heart of Deepground.

At full speed of about thirty miles per hour, the carts took another three hours to cover the distance to get to the last stop on the rails. He didn't have any more encounters with any of Deepground's new denizens, which was more than satisfactory in his book. He could still see the dozens of pairs of staring eyes.

The carts ground to a halt, and Vincent switched them off. He got out and leapt deftly onto the platform where they had stopped – it was small, its only feature being a door set into the far wall. The door was closed and secured with a warning sign, promising that dismemberment and other unpleasantness would be delivered upon any unauthorized personnel who went through it. Vincent ignored the signs and threw the door open.

It opened onto a corridor, which connected to several other corridors, and so forth. This went on for quite a while until Vincent managed to get his bearings and remember some details about Deepground's architecture. Finally he took a right turn and arrived at Weiss's throne room.

More precisely, he arrived at what used to be Weiss's throne room. What he found instead was a gaping hole, empty, the room torn up by its roots and replaced with nothing but a staircase hewn out of the very living rock that descended even deeper into the earth.

Vincent swallowed and leapt down onto the staircase, resolving to follow, wherever it led. He would have thought that he'd have run into new – or relatively new – construction by now, at least if the organization behind Project R had conformed to his assumptions. Of course, his assumptions could be wrong, which would be disappointing but entirely bearable. He still had more than three weeks to conduct his search, and he had the carts to help him do that.

The staircase wound deep into the earth, surrounded by solid stone on both sides. Vincent kept going, and he began to realize that there was a light at the end of the stairs, a red one that was slowly beginning to grow.

He turned one last bend and found himself in a massive underground cavern, illuminated by a glowing, head-sized red sphere that floated at eye level off of the floor in its center. At first glance, Vincent couldn't tell what it was, but then he realized it was actually an enormous Materia.

Casting his gaze around the cavern, Vincent could see that it stretched for what had to be almost half a mile. However, what caught his attention almost immediately after that were the three stasis pods placed equidistantly from the large Materia so they formed the three points of a triangle.

He cautiously walked toward them, keeping a hand on his gun, inspecting the nearest one as he approached. The pod, though it had been obviously ripped right out of a wall, looked like it had all the necessary equipment, and the independent fusion generator seemed like it was going strong. Vincent rounded the pod and swore when he saw the inhabitant.

Weiss the Immaculate slumbered inside. Vincent remembered him from forty-seven years ago. He remembered how the madman had unleashed Omega WEAPON and nearly sucked the Lifestream from the Planet. What he was doing here, inexplicably alive, Vincent didn't know, but he wasn't about to permit this. He drew Cerberus and leveled it at the literal forest of tubes that festooned the sides and rear of the pod. Shooting out enough of these should ensure Weiss would never wake up again.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Vincent Valentine," someone said from behind him. "I need Weiss for later."

Vincent whirled and pointed his gun at the newcomer, then realized that it wasn't a newcomer at all. The man had somehow disengaged himself from his stasis pod and awakened in response to Vincent's presence. He wasn't familiar to Vincent – he had shoulder-length brown hair, glowing mako eyes, refined features, and wore a full-body coat made of red leather. At his side hung a long, straight-bladed sword with a basket hilt.

"Who the hell are you?" Vincent asked. "And how do you know me?"

"My name," the stranger said, "is Genesis Rhapsodos. Very good to meet you at last. I know you because you saved the Planet from sure destruction."

"I was lucky," Vincent said, not letting his guard down. "What do you want? Why are you protecting Weiss?"

"He and I will be needed in the times ahead, when the world is in peril and Minerva calls upon us to protect it," Genesis replied.

"If you hadn't noticed, the Planet is in pretty terrible shape at the moment, and it's been that way for decades. If you're so keen on protecting it – and can somehow get Weiss to cooperate – why don't you come back to the surface with me?"

Genesis laughed, and it was not a pleasant sound. "Vincent Valentine, the Planet may be in terrible shape by your standards, but its very existence is not threatened – only the existence of humankind. We are the ultimate guardians of the Planet itself, not those on it. It is our – my – duty, in exchange for the Gift of the Goddess." He motioned at the red orb in the center of the room. "By the way, you can put your gun away. If I wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead."

"I'm not so sure about that," Vincent said, but he holstered Cerberus.

Genesis gave him a thin smile. "I fought toe-to-toe with Sephiroth, once. The two of us were good friends."

Vincent raised an eyebrow. "Really. What happened there?"

"It's too complicated to explain," Genesis replied.

"I have plenty of time."

"Yes, you do, but your purpose here, I'm guessing, isn't to listen to my story. My tale is concluded for the interim and won't recommence for… well. Telling you what I'm not even that sure about would be somewhat unfair to you." Genesis pointed at the third stasis pod in the room. "Your purpose, I'd wager, has to do with the occupant of that pod there."

Vincent looked at it as though noticing it for the first time. "You mean…?"

"I'm guessing you came here in search of the base that used to house this man," Genesis said. "It's quite a ways from here; the minds behind its construction and integration into Deepground thought the center would be too obvious a location. However, after their pet project turned on them, I paid the location a visit and found this man in his pod, as well as two other undamaged pods that I commandeered for my brother and myself."

Vincent moved quickly to the last stasis pod and peered inside. Sure enough, Cloud was in there, sleeping peacefully. He had never looked so carefree in everyday life.

"You saved him," Vincent said.

"He was in no real danger," Genesis said dismissively. "The rest of the pods in that place were all full of… what do you call them?"

"Losts."

"An apt name. They were all full of Losts, but their stasis was holding. I imagine it continues to hold even now."

"I'm not so sure about that," Vincent said, the fetuses' staring eyes rising out of the fog of his memory to haunt him again for a moment. "I… I suppose I should thank you, regardless. But why didn't you let him out of stasis, explain what had happened?"

"How would he get out of here?" Genesis asked. "I have no supplies to give him, nothing to arm him with. Alone in the darkness of Deepground, without food, water, or weaponry, hopelessly lost and trapped with all the inhabitants of this place… And if he should have somehow managed to make it to the surface, Midgar isn't much better. And assuming he survived that, where would he go? The last time I went back up to the surface to look at the state of the world, it was my impression that the entire Eastern Continent had been lost to civilization. Unless there was somebody looking for him, he would have been doomed."

"True," Vincent said. He began running the pod through its shutdown sequence, slowly easing Cloud back towards consciousness. "I have a ride I can summon that'll get us out of here once we get back to the surface. Are you sure you don't want to come?"

Genesis shook his head. "It's not our time, yet. Weiss and I will wait here until the Goddess tells us that it is our moment." He walked back to his stasis pod and climbed inside. "By the way… he will not wake for a few minutes after you've removed him from the pod. Take him out of this place before he comes to. He would recognize me from his past, and it would not be a pleasant experience. Better that he think you found him on your own."

Vincent nodded. "I understand."

"Goodbye, Vincent Valentine." Genesis pressed a button on the interior of the pod, and it sealed and began to run through its stasis power-up sequence even as Cloud's completely shut down and popped its seal with a hiss. The glass slid open, and Vincent hefted Cloud out of the pod, threw him over his shoulder – no sense in worrying about how he carried him if Cloud wasn't awake to complain – and headed back towards the staircase.

Genesis watched Vincent go as he felt his body become cold and his eyelids heavy again. "Good luck," he murmured, his breath steaming inside the pod and fogging the glass. "You are going to need it."

* * *

His dreams had been dark for as long as he could remember now. Misty, indistinct shapes had crossed in front of his eyes in an endless, blurred void, and he had been very cold.

For the first time in a very long time, he suddenly felt warm. He crawled toward the source of the warmth, pulling himself across the smooth metal floor. Then he realized that he was moving, that he was at least partially conscious, and he opened his eyes.

He couldn't see anything except a bright orange shape, so bright it hurt his eyes, and he squeezed them shut again and rubbed furiously at them. A familiar voice said, "Take it easy. You've been asleep for a very long time, it'll take a while to acclimate yourself to being awake again."

Cloud groaned and opened his eyes again, forcing himself to look at the light. It slowly resolved into a small, crackling fire, and sitting beyond it was Vincent Valentine. They were in a small, empty room made of metal.

"Vincent," he croaked. "How… where are we?"

"We're inside Deepground," Vincent said. "I had to come down here to retrieve you from a stasis pod that the people behind Project R imprisoned you in."

At the mention of the project, Cloud struggled mightily to get himself into a sitting position. He felt terribly weak, but he managed to lever himself up into a cross-legged position and get to eye level with Vincent. "Project R," he said. "We need to stop them. They're going to release some kind of biological weapon into the water supplies all over the world – it could be the end of everything!"

"They did that already," Vincent said. He looked, even for him, uncomfortable.

Cloud stared at him, a feeling of incredible helplessness asserting itself. "Maybe we can stop the spread… warn people…"

"Cloud, it's over and done with," Vincent said. "I'm not precisely sure how to tell you this, but… well." He looked into the flames of the fire and sighed. "Do you have any idea how long you were in that pod?"

"No," Cloud replied, dread beginning to accumulate inside him. "Should I?"

"I suppose it's not a surprise. You were in perfect suspended animation, after all." Vincent took a deep breath, looked up at Cloud, and said, "Cloud, you have been in stasis for nearly forty-five years."

Ice trickled through Cloud's gut, and he felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead. "That's not possible."

"It is. Your pod used a portable fusion power generator. From the condition it was in I'm sure you could have gone for a century without risk to your well-being."

Cloud stared at the fire, not sure whether to feel despair or shock or nothing at all. "I… how…" A thought occurred to him, and Cloud suddenly felt himself glaring at Vincent. "Why didn't you come for me earlier? How could you have let me sit down here and rot for forty-five years?"

"We didn't know you were alive until recently," Vincent replied quietly. "As far as most people know, you've been dead this entire time."

Neither of the men said anything after that, but stared at the fire in silence, wrapped up in their own thoughts. Vincent wondered how Cloud was going to react to the world outside, how he was going to take it when he saw that everyone he knew was either dead or biologically older than he was. Chronologically speaking, he was seventy-one years old, but he still appeared precisely like he had at twenty-six.

Finally, Cloud looked back up at Vincent and asked, "Tifa?"

The question was like a blow to Vincent. He felt sick again, his stomach churning. Not taking his eyes off of the fire, he said, very quietly, "I'm sorry."

Cloud squeezed his eyes shut and covered his face with his hands, not saying a word. Only his breathing changed, coming faster and sounding shorter. Vincent didn't say anything, but he felt a lump form in his throat when he saw tiny droplets of moisture trickling out from between his friend's fingers.

"How?" Cloud asked a minute later, his voice muffled.

"Defending innocent people," Vincent replied.

Cloud took a long, shuddering breath, then removed his hands from his face and wiped them off on his pants legs. He was still wearing his old, familiar outfit pieced together after his SOLDIER uniform had no longer appealed to him. His eyes were red and puffy, but he had regained some measure of self-control. "I see. That's good, at least." He sniffed and asked, obviously trying to change the subject, "How's Yuffie?"

"Fine," Vincent replied noncommittally.

"Are you two still…?"

"No. Not for a long time, now."

"But you're still friends, right?"

"Of course. Yuffie wouldn't have it any other way."

"That's good. How're Barret and Marlene?"

Vincent's lip twisted. "Marlene is… well. All grown up, I suppose. Barret passed away some years ago of natural causes."

Cloud looked like he might start to cry again, but he kept a handle on himself. "Who else, Vincent?"

He didn't say what he was asking about, but his meaning was plain. "Cid," Vincent replied. "Killed when he crashed the _Shera_ into a rebel base after they killed her namesake."

"I always thought he'd go out like that," Cloud said, trying to summon a smile and only managing to make his mouth twitch a little bit. "Reeve, Red XIII, Denzel, they're all okay?"

"I would say Reeve is enjoying staying active his dotage, except for the fact that he stays active through all his Cait Siths," Vincent replied. "Red is the same as ever, perhaps a bit more mature if that's even possible. Denzel… after Tifa died, Denzel left the Protectorate – although we were still AVALANCHE back then. None of us have seen him since. We can only assume the worst."

"I see." Cloud wiped at his eyes and took another deep breath to steady himself. "What happened, Vincent? The Protectorate? Rebels? What came of Project R?"

"Before I go into a lengthy explanation, how did you find out about Project R?" Vincent asked. "And how much did you know about them? What was their goal?"

"I didn't find out about it," Cloud said. "They approached me, told me they had high-level WRO clearance, and showed me the necessary papers. Said they wanted my help. Then they brought me down to their base of operations through a private elevator located somewhere aboveground, said that they wanted to run some tests using the JENOVA cells in me. I tried to tell them no, tried to get out, but they hit me with some darts loaded with tranquilizer. The next thing I knew, I was waking up here."

"When did they do this?" Vincent asked. "Do you remember the date?"

"Let me think," Cloud said, still rubbing at his eyes. "It was… yeah, it was the nineteenth of August."

"I see."

"What does that mean?"

"On the twenty-first of August that year, the Second Meteor hit."

Cloud raised an eyebrow. "Second Meteor?"

Vincent sighed, adjusted his position on the floor, and cleared his throat. "It wasn't anything like when JENOVA fell, or the Ultimate Black Magic – it was just a freak accident, a million-to-one chance that, unfortunately, happened. A meteor, nobody's really sure how big, hit the Planet on the southern part of the Western Continent. The impact caused massive climate change and actually moved the Planet out of its proper orbit, closer to the sun. The entire world is essentially a massive desert. Explaining what happened requires a lot of difficult ecoscience, but to make a long story short, we don't really have as much ocean as we used to. All the water is either vapor in the air, incredibly saturated saltwater that is mostly devoid of life, or trapped up in the North Pole, which remains cold enough to keep it frozen because of the way the Planet is skewed on its axis. These changes all took place over the better part of a decade, of course, but we couldn't take any preventative measures because we were busy dealing with the disease."

"Project R," Cloud said.

"Exactly. Why this group formed inside the WRO we don't know – in fact, we only just learned that they were operating within the system and not outside it when we found the Data Materia that told us you were still alive. Regardless, a week or so after the Second Meteor hit, reports started coming in of a strange infection spreading throughout towns all over the world. People were falling ill and being transformed into terrifying, bloodthirsty creatures. Mass panic ensued. The WRO ripped itself apart from the inside as several different splinter forces all tried for a coup d'état. Nobody knew what anyone else was doing. Over half the world's population was consumed by the disease, including pretty much everybody on the Eastern Continent, which was hit the hardest.

"After the WRO went under, AVALANCHE managed to reconvene on the Central Continent. Nobody knew where you were, and we all assumed you'd died in the fighting or been infected. We swore an oath to always do what was necessary to try to bring the world out of this Dark Age it had entered." Vincent paused for a moment and then concluded, "That was more than forty years ago."

"I see." Cloud took a minute to absorb the information and then asked, "You're the Protectorate now?"

"As our influence grew again and more people started joining us, it was decided that we needed to move beyond AVALANCHE. AVALANCHE had always been a terrorist organization, always in rebellion, never a force of stalwart defenders and helpers. We needed a new banner to unify under, and we chose that of the Protectorate."

"Makes sense." Cloud drew his knees up to his chest, feeling stronger but not quite ready to get up. "So… what's the plan now?"

"As soon as you're fit to travel, we leave," Vincent replied. "We're not staying here in Deepground any longer than absolutely necessary. I've already had a run-in with a Lost that I'd rather not repeat, ever again."

"Lost?"

"The end result of a normal human getting infected with Project R's disease. It's… not pretty."

"I guess you're right. I just…" Cloud looked embarrassed for a moment and then asked, "Where did you find me, exactly? We're obviously not in the kind of facility that would normally house stasis pods."

"Your pod had been moved," Vincent said. "By what, I don't know. Why do you ask?"

"The First Tsurugi," Cloud replied. "Could we recover it? Maybe? I… if you think about it, it's all I really have left."

Vincent opened his mouth to tell Cloud he wasn't staying in this subterranean hellhole for a second longer than absolutely necessary, but then he clicked his jaw closed and put himself in the man's shoes. Waking up after forty-five years, everyone he knew either aged almost beyond recognition or dead… Was it such a sin to try to cling to something familiar?

"All right," Vincent said. "I don't know precisely where their base of operations is, used to be – whatever the case is – but we have almost a month before we have to leave. I don't need to eat or drink much, but I still brought two weeks' supplies in anticipation of finding you. I have carts working that will take us to the very edges of Deepground inside of a day, so we essentially have a week and a half before we start to run low."

"Sounds good to me," Cloud said. "I guess I haven't eaten in more than forty years, huh?"

Vincent nodded and began to pull the supplies out of his pack. He hoped they wouldn't regret going back for the First Tsurugi. He couldn't blame Cloud, now that he had thought the situation through, but still… a chamber full of Losts, all frozen in stasis, did not sound like the kind of place he wanted to walk into willingly.

"This is what we do for our friends," he sighed.

"What?" Cloud asked.

"Nothing," Vincent said. "Nothing at all."


	6. Chapter 6

While trying to determine the actual location of Project R's base within Deepground, Vincent had to revise his assumptions about the group's thinking. Obviously, since they had decided not to construct it in the heart of Deepground and had opted for a less obvious location, they had probably also made it so it couldn't be accessed by simply wandering through the endless corridors until one stumbled into a door.

Of course, going and coming would still need to be easy, and if Vincent wasn't mistaken, the rails were the key. Project R had to have been thinking any intruders would be in a group, probably a tactical squad of no more than a dozen. Moving an army through the labyrinthine passages would prove too difficult and costly; a highly-trained, special operations force would be the ideal infiltrators.

Since special operations forces would be trained extensively in squad tactics, they would naturally want to stick together, only fanning out to search within a given range before reconvening and reporting in. They also hated being out of control of their environment, and would probably want to stay on foot rather than ride the trams, where they would be most vulnerable.

This was, of course, all educated guesswork, pieced together from Vincent's experiences as a Turk, free-roaming gunman, and Inquisitor. However, he knew it was sound guesswork, and riding the carts would be faster, more efficient, and much less tiring than proceeding on foot. Therefore, he and Cloud headed back to where he had left them, each got into one, and started on their way.

It was tedious going, riding through seemingly endless tunnels, only stopping to recharge the carts' power or at a station to get their bearings. Vincent was keeping track to the best of his ability of the shapes and junctions of the tunnels they traveled through, comparing them to the map of Deepground that he had brought in an effort to get an idea of their location. Hours and hours of riding the carts had begun to make exactly where they were difficult to determine.

Cloud sat in his cart and thought, occasionally asking Vincent a question about the world or how things had changed but mostly keeping to himself, sometimes meditating or dropping off to sleep. He still didn't feel like his old self; he was tired, which was strange to think about considering he had been asleep for more than forty years – although Vincent assured him it was a side effect of the stasis. His friend seemed to have things under control and looked like he knew what he was doing, so Cloud left him to his own devices. There was no sense in trying to help when he was so clearly out of his depth in a world he didn't understand.

That, and he couldn't exactly see in the pitch blackness like Vincent could.

"I think I know where we are," Vincent said when they came to another halt at a transfer station and got out to stretch their legs.

"Really?" Cloud asked.

Vincent consulted both of his maps by firelight. "Yes. The tracks went through a kind of inverse double-S curve recently, and that only occurs once on the map that Yuffie provided me. If I'm not mistaken – and I'm fairly sure I'm not – we are here." He tapped a particular location on the full map with a bronze talon. "Weiss's throne room is here." He moved the talon to indicate another location much closer to the relative center. "We've traveled a couple hundred miles in the past half a day or so. Since I know where we are exactly…" He pulled out a red pen and started making marks on the map. "As I told you, I'm convinced that the entrance to Project R's base is through the rails. Looking at Deepground as a lot of space between the rails rather than an underground place that features them…"

Cloud frowned, not sure what Vincent was talking about, and then said, "Oh." Vincent had drawn a red line through every major rail artery on the map, ignoring smaller capillary offshoots. The lines were thick and clustered at certain points, especially near the center, but some branched off by themselves, and one artery in particular circled around to the outer western edge of Deepground without coming into contact with any other tracks for quite a distance. The result was a large hole in the web of red lines, a hole that Vincent indicated meaningfully.

"That, if I'm right, will be the base."

"Sounds good to me," Cloud said. "Just one question, though. How are we going to know the entrance when we see it?"

"Simple." Vincent marked off every branching track from the main artery and counted them. "If we take the carts up this path –" he traced a route for Cloud to follow – "we'll enter this particular artery from the north and go southwest, then south, then southeast along it, in a half-circle. Once we get there, this map shows nineteen branching capillaries off of the main artery, and in a particular order – first to the west, then twice to the east, then to the west again, and so on. We just count capillaries, and the first one that doesn't show up on the old map will be our entrance."

"If you say so," Cloud said. "I never was good at this sort of thing. How long should it take to get there?"

Vincent looked at the map's scale, did some quick calculations in his head, and replied, "Probably the rest of today. As for searching the artery itself, it should only take three to four hours if we take it slow enough to ensure that we don't miss anything."

"All right."

"And don't worry about it. I was never good at using maps and plotting things out either… not until after the Fall. When you have to travel through trackless wastes and the slightest variation from your course could make you miss civilization by miles, you learn quickly."

"The Fall," Cloud repeated. "Kind of an apt name."

"I don't know who coined it, but they were right. The fall of the Second Meteor, the WRO, the Eastern Continent, civilization itself…" Vincent trailed off into silence and finally bundled up the maps. "Let's be on our way. I know where we're going, so you should just concentrate on regaining your strength. Do you want anything else to eat yet?"

"I'm fine," Cloud replied. "I'll eat again in a little while. No sense in overloading my system when there's no rush."

"Suit yourself." Vincent headed back over to the carts and started recharging their generators with small jolts from his Lightning Materia, still keeping a flame conjured in his other hand. "Oh, by the way – I almost forgot. I don't have any spare Materia for you, but I did bring this." He stopped recharging the carts long enough to reach into his pack, withdraw a short, powerful-looking submachine gun, and toss it to Cloud along with an ammo bandolier.

Cloud caught the gun and hefted it. "Not what I'm used to fighting with anymore."

"Once we get there, if we run into something you'll be glad I brought it for you," Vincent said. "Trust me."

Cloud secured the SMG's strap to himself and slung the ammo bandolier across his chest and shoulder. He sighted along the gun and got a feel for it before letting it hang loosely at his side. It was a different make, of course, but it reminded him too much of the gun he'd used as a Shin-Ra guard. Not that he'd really done anything with it, but those were unpleasant memories he'd rather keep buried.

Memories from more than fifty years ago…

He shook his head. It felt like it had been a little more than ten years since he'd worn that damn helmet and uniform, since he had failed to get into SOLDIER, since he had met Zack… He wondered if the Lifestream was still even accessible or healthy, if Zack and Aerith still existed beyond life, or if they had dissipated and gone when the Second Meteor had hit.

None of this line of thinking made him comfortable, so he stopped and brought something else up. "Vincent, how do you prevent yourself from becoming infected?"

"You don't let a Lost or a potential Lost get any of its bodily fluids on you. We're not sure if simple contact will infect you or if it needs to get through the skin as in a kiss, a bite, intercourse, whatever, but just play it safe. If you do get fluid on your skin, burn it off immediately. The skin, too. If you get bitten on a limb, cut the limb off. Burnt skin can be healed, lost limbs can be dealt with and even bionically replaced. The disease, though, can't be cured. Once it's gotten to your brain, you're doomed."

"There's no way to get rid of it? No cure?"

"None that anybody has been able to develop," Vincent said, still recharging the carts. The indicator on the generators wasn't quite full yet, and he wanted to be able to go for at least six hours before they had to stop again. "If a potential Lost is identified, we do them a favor by killing them."

Cloud drew back instinctively, repulsed. "But… that's…"

"Awful? I know, but we live in awful times. Transformation into a Lost is by far one of the worst possible ways to die, Cloud. Better to have it come swiftly and mercifully than to slowly and painfully lose your mind and your body."

Cloud shook his head but didn't protest any further. "How do you tell if somebody's becoming a Lost?"

"There are signs. Facial features begin to change, the eyes begin to grow larger, body language and posture begin to degrade. That's how most people can see the early stages. The advanced stages are impossible to miss. Inquisitors like me use a foolproof method to catch potential Losts early."

"What's that?"

"Secret."

"Come on," Cloud wheedled only half-seriously. "You can tell me. Who am I going to blab to?"

Vincent shot him a glance that showed he was clearly not amused. "If you become an Inquisitor, you'll find out. Otherwise, we can't tell anybody."

"At least tell me the reasoning behind that."

Vincent paused and made sure the generators were up to a hundred percent before he turned and looked at Cloud. "If we told people… it's simple enough that you might think you can do it yourself, imitate it without the training. People would start claiming they could do it, when in reality it's far more complex than it initially seems. We would have people with power in small towns declaring themselves de facto Inquisitors and executing anyone they didn't like on the grounds that they could be Losts. It's better this way."

"I'll take your word for it," Cloud sighed. "Doesn't sound like a very fun line of work, though."

"It's not." Vincent leaped back into his cart and motioned at Cloud's. "Coming?"

Cloud nodded and moved back over to his own. He got in, Vincent started the carts up again, put out the flame he'd been conjuring, and they began moving towards their destination.

Once the flame went out, the thing that had been tracking the two of them since they'd left the throne room came out of the nearby capillary and started silently, swiftly following them. It was certain that the two men had no idea it was there, and it was going to stay hidden until it was far too late for them to survive.

* * *

"I'm glad you could make it," Tifa said.

Cloud shrugged and let her pull him into an embrace. "It was nothing, really. No problem." She gently pulled his head down and started to kiss him, and he returned the sentiment, exploring her mouth and delighting in the warm feel of her body pressing against his own.

They were standing in someone's backyard. The lawn was very green, and the rosebushes lining the fence were in full bloom. The backyard was also full of children running about, some of them wearing party hats.

Cloud wasn't exactly sure where this was or why he was here, but apparently it was a party and Tifa had wanted him to show up, so he was glad that he had managed to make it. She broke off the kiss and said quietly, "Barret can take care of the party. Come inside with me."

Barret seemed to appear out of nowhere, looking happy just to be here, and waved with his human arm. Cloud nodded with him and gave him a smile before letting Tifa pull him inside the house, which seemed familiar. A moment after entering it, Cloud realized that it was Tifa's old house in Nibelheim, which had never had a backyard, but it seemed to make sense right now so he didn't ask questions. Cid was sitting by the hearth having a smoke away from the children, and he gave Cloud a short nod of acknowledgement as Tifa led him through the living room and up the stairs.

She brought Cloud into her old room and closed the door behind them. Looking around, Cloud recalled everything – the richly woven rug that covered the better part of the wooden floor, the antique oak bed frame and the lace-edged silken linens on the mattress, the piano sitting in the corner of the room.

Tifa walked over to the piano, sat down on the bench, and began playing a familiar song. She looked up at Cloud as her fingers danced over the keys, their movement almost hypnotic, and he started to get lost in her wine-colored eyes. "Cloud, do you love me?"

"Of course I do," Cloud replied, blinking away the fatigue that had suddenly started to settle over him. "Why?"

"I miss you," she said as she continued to play. "I feel as though I barely see you, even if you're actually around all the time."

"You know we're both busy people," Cloud said.

"It doesn't feel like you're really here," she went on as though he hadn't said anything. "I don't want you to feel like you have to hold back, Cloud. You can share everything with me."

"I know that," Cloud said, moving to stand behind Tifa so he could wrap his arms around her shoulders. "But why are you telling me this now? Isn't there a better time, when we're not at a party?"

"There's never going to be a better time," Tifa said. She stopped playing the music and brought her hands up to grip Cloud's. "I want to tell you this now, and I want to be with you now, because soon you're going to disappear and I'm never going to see you again."

"Don't make jokes like that," Cloud said, concerned. "They're not funny."

Tifa swung herself around and off the bench, turning around in Cloud's arms, and ran her fingertips down his face. "I'm not joking," she said.

He kissed her, pulling her against him and holding her tightly. Something in him knew she was telling the truth, but he didn't want to admit it. She suddenly began to taste bitter, and Cloud pulled just far enough away from her to see that there were tears running down her face.

"Cloud, where did you go?" she whispered.

The cart that he was riding in jolted, and Cloud snapped awake, his heart pounding. He couldn't see anything in the pitch blackness of Deepground, but he felt his eyes welling up with moisture that had already begun to trail down his cheeks and fall in tiny droplets from his chin.

He furiously wiped at his eyes and tried to calm himself. He needed to remain cool and focused, especially since it was his damnably stupid idea to get into Project R's base in pursuit of the slim hope that his sword was still there. Of course, it wasn't as though there was anything he could really do to help, riding along a fixed railway in complete darkness, but he couldn't afford to be emotional at a time like this.

"Don't worry," Vincent's voice floated back from the first cart. "I have things in hand. You can go back to sleep."

"All I've done since I woke up is stare at nothing or sleep," Cloud said, angry but not sure why. "I'm sick of it. How close are we to Project R's base?"

"Assuming my guesswork is right, we should be coming up on it in an hour or so," Vincent replied. "Don't quote me on that; we could be as far away as three, or we could be in exactly the wrong place."

"If that happens we still have plenty of time to search the rest of Deepground," Cloud pointed out.

"True. Although –" Vincent cut himself off and said, "Wait."

"What is it?" Cloud asked, confused, and he suddenly felt his cart angle sharply downward. "Are the tracks supposed to be doing that?"

By way of reply Vincent conjured up a flame to provide some light. Cloud had to squint at first, but it quickly became apparent that a large path leading further down had been carved right into the earth and new railing had been laid down. Anyone approaching from the wrong direction would certainly have an unpleasant surprise when their own rails ended over a ten-foot drop, but Vincent and Cloud had been lucky enough to come from the right angle, so their carts moved in a smooth descent.

"Looks like they got tired of being subtle," Vincent observed. "Sloppy of them."

"Are you complaining?" Cloud asked.

Vincent smiled tightly. "No."

The track, several dozen feet down, looped around in a slow spiral until they ended up going back in the direction from whence they'd come. The carts finally stopped at a station that looked different from all the others they had encountered. The architecture was different, rounder and less angular than the construction of the rest of this underground hell, and the equipment had obviously been more advanced when it was put in.

In the far wall there was a door marked "Authorized Personnel Only" in large, intimidating block text. There was no visible handle or way to open it except a switch on the wall next to it, and that didn't look like it had power. Vincent and Cloud hopped off their carts, readying their respective weapons and mentally preparing themselves for whatever they might run into.

"Ready?" Vincent asked quietly.

"Always," Cloud replied.

They moved cautiously to the door, and Vincent tried the switch with no results. He frowned, moved back from the door, and said to Cloud, "You'll want to stand back."

He extended a hand towards the door and began to build up his energy. The flame in his palm started moving from orange to blue in its heat, but Cloud frantically shook his head and hissed, "No! We need to maintain stealth as long as we can!"

"Do you have a better idea?" Vincent asked, letting the flame die back down to orange.

Cloud inspected the door and the frame around it, almost immediately hitting upon a suspicious-looking panel. With a grunt he pulled the metal plate off and found a small crank marked 'Manual Release.' He gave Vincent an 'I-told-you-so' look that the gunman let pass without objection, and began working the crank.

Slowly, the door slid open, splitting down the middle and retracting into the wall on both sides. Cloud pumped it just far enough open that they could slip through it into Project R's base of operations.

They could see by the light of the flame that they were in some kind of airlock, presumably one that was supposed to be pressurized to keep outside contaminants away from the interior of the base. The air was even more stagnant than the outside's. Opposite the two of them was a single door that had to lead further in.

This one wasn't operated by a switch that they could see, and there was no manual release panel, but the door was hanging just slightly ajar – enough for Vincent and Cloud to get their fingers in and start pushing the door open.

The effort was considerable, but both of them were far stronger than ordinary humans, so the door quickly yielded to their combined strength and opened onto one of the most massive rooms that either of them had ever seen. Vincent increased the size of the flame he was conjuring, and they were both amazed by the view.

Trying to build a mental picture of it, Cloud decided that it was an enormous, hollow cylinder suspended in the earth, the edges of which were ringed with large catwalks for people to traverse. It had to be half a mile high, and there were at least twenty catwalks ringing the cylinder. From one side of the interior to the other was a little less than a quarter mile. Rising from floor to ceiling in the center of the cylinder were perhaps ten or fifteen enormous pillars, and in clustered rings on these pillars, level with the catwalks ringing the outside of the cylinder, were countless stasis pods.

"How?" Vincent murmured. "How could this group have gotten hold of so many people to perform experiments on? There must be enough Losts in here to kill off the entire world."

Cloud moved to the edge of the catwalk they were on, as close as he could without falling over the railing, and looked down. Right now they were in the uppermost ring. He could see that each catwalk below had different equipment on it – monitoring stations, operating tables, vats of what he could only assume was disease fluid… there was no privacy in this place. He could imagine mutated subjects cut open and dissected in one area of the cylinder as more were infected and put through rigorous tests in another.

"They would keep the subjects in the stasis pods until they were needed," Vincent murmured.

Cloud nodded. "You're thinking the same things I am. It's beginning to make some sense now."

"There must be offices, living quarters, and other stuff like that branching off from the lower levels," Cloud said. "That must be where the old private elevator they took me through leads, or else I would remember something like this."

"They must have also had a separate ward with stasis pods reserved for special subjects," Vincent said. "The Data Materia we saw you in never showed anything like this. If we can find the offices and living quarters you mentioned, we'll probably find an armory nearby – that's where they'll have stashed the First Tsurugi. And even if it's not working, an elevator shaft leading straight up is preferable going back the way we came."

"True." Cloud gave a long sigh and said, "So. Where do you want to start looking?"

"I have a suggestion," someone said from directly behind them.

Vincent and Cloud whirled around, instantly bringing up their weapons and releasing the safeties. "Who's there?" Cloud demanded.

Standing now in front of them was a young man, who didn't look as though he was older than seventeen or eighteen. He had dark brown eyes, short-cropped black hair, a square jaw and thin lips, and stood about five and a half feet tall. He wore a desert-dweller's cloak – ragged cloth the color of sand that covered him from neck to ankles and also had a hood that he could pull up. His exposed neck and forearms revealed some kind of form-fitting black jumpsuit that might have been in use at one point by the WRO's special forces. He wore black combat boots on his feet, and bore no visible weaponry, but the cloak offered a lot of space in which to conceal weapons.

He spoke in a deep voice. "If the two of you, this very instant, turn around and go back the way you came, head back to the surface, and return to your precious Protectorate, I will let you live. Otherwise…" He shrugged easily.

"You can carry on your search for the First Tsurugi in Hell."


	7. Chapter 7

"Just who do you think you are?" Vincent asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

The young man gave a sweeping bow and said, "Forgive my rudeness. My name is Renbato Wŭgerén, one of the Immaculate Swords."

"I've never heard of the Immaculate Swords," Vincent said.

"That's because our existence is not to be revealed to the outside world unless it proves absolutely necessary," Renbato said. "In this case, however, I have been tracking you ever since you got into Deepground. We care little whether or not you retrieve Strife, but this base, as old as it may be, is off-limits. Leave now and I promise you I will not be forced to kill you."

"You're part of some secret cult or something?" Cloud asked. "Who runs your organization? What're your intentions?"

"I have answered all the questions I am permitted," Renbato said. "Leave."

"I don't feel like leaving," Vincent said. "Especially not when the person telling me to is a Lost."

Cloud flashed a surprised glance at Vincent before he remembered himself and focused back on the immediate threat. "He's a Lost? But I thought they were monsters!"

"He doesn't show any signs of it yet, but he's infected," Vincent said.

"Ever the astute Inquisitor," Renbato said. "But I know as well as you do that I am infected. I control the disease; it does not control me. That is the power of the Immaculate Swords."

"Let's test that," Vincent said. He pulled Cerberus's trigger and blew Renbato's head open. As terribly dark red blood spewed everywhere, the young man was thrown from his feet to land on his back, stone dead.

"What the hell was his problem?" Cloud wondered.

"Just a lunatic," Vincent replied flatly. "Probably losing his mind and for some reason remaining civil while he was at it." He had turned away and started to look for a way down when the corpse started laughing.

"Impressive aim," Renbato said, levering himself to his feet, the top half of his head blown open, chunks of brain and bone falling to the floor as he got up. "I couldn't even dodge." He cracked his neck, blood sloshing out of his gaping skull as he did so. "Not," he laughed, "that I really need to."

"Cloud, go and get the First Tsurugi," Vincent said.

"It could take me ages to find it in this place!" Cloud protested. "And I can't see in the dark! I can help you more here!"

"You're much better with a sword than you are with a gun," Vincent said. He unbound the Fire Materia from himself before tossing it to Cloud. "There's your light. Just hurry and I'm sure you'll be able to find the First Tsurugi or at least something you can use as a sword. I'll keep him busy until then."

Cloud slowly backed away until he was at what he deemed a safe distance, then he took off down the catwalk in search of an elevator or some stairs.

"Now," Renbato asked, "where were we?" His skull was still blown open, but he seemed to be functioning perfectly. He ripped his cloak off to reveal that he was indeed wearing a special operations jumpsuit, which was matte black and festooned with pouches and other places to store equipment. "Right. I was just about to kill you."

Charging forward with astonishing speed, hands balled into fists, Renbato swung wildly at Vincent. The gunman easily sidestepped the attack and casually blew the rest of Renbato's head off with another pull of Cerberus's trigger. Completely headless, the body kept coming, relentless and accurate in its strikes. It lashed out in a kick that Vincent ducked, and he blew the leg off at the knee, sending the severed part flying off into a corner. As the body stumbled fell to its other knee, Vincent took the opportunity to shoot both its arms off at the shoulders, then unload his last two three-round bursts into the remaining thigh, severing it.

"Do you need to reload yet?"

Vincent whirled just in time to run straight into a blow that he didn't see coming. The amazingly powerful strike made him see stars for a moment. He stumbled back and managed to keep his feet, but his eyes widened in shock when he saw that Renbato – completely whole and unhurt – had thrown the punch.

"How…?" he asked.

"So you do need to reload," Renbato said. "That's good. I was getting bored waiting for that."

Something tapped Vincent on the shoulder. He ducked instinctively, just barely dodging the punch a different and yet identical Renbato threw at the back of his head. He moved into a spinning kick that took the new opponent's feet out from under him, but then the second – or was it first, at this point? – landed a kick square in the center of his back, sending him sprawling.

Vincent managed to turn the sprawl into an awkward roll, coming up in a crouch. He turned himself around and was suddenly facing five Renbatos. They were all charging at him far too fast for him to reload, demonic grins written across their faces.

He judged the distance to the pod-bearing pillar to be about twenty feet. With no other prospects, he charged toward it, got a foot up on the railing at the edge of the catwalk, and leapt.

He almost didn't make it, crashing into the side of the catwalk that ringed the pillar, but he managed to grab onto it and haul himself up. A glance over his shoulder told him the Renbatos were following him, charging in a loose line toward the railing. They all jumped, three pulling slightly ahead of the others. Just as they were about to reach the edge of the catwalk, Vincent lashed out in a whirling crescent kick that hit all three of them across their chests and hurled them away from the platform, sending them falling half a mile down to their deaths.

The other two pulled themselves up after grabbing onto the catwalk's edge. Vincent kicked one of them in the face as he was trying to rise, but the other Renbato made it to his feet and grabbed Vincent's left arm, trying to pin it behind him. Vincent twisted himself through a counter-maneuver, switching their positions. He smashed that Renbato's head into the glass of a stasis pod. The Lost inside didn't seem to notice the crack made by the blow; its massive eyes were open but saw nothing, glazed over in stasis.

The Renbato that Vincent had kicked tried to grab him, blood streaming from his nose. Vincent whirled out of the way, reloading Cerberus as he did so, and then blew a hole through the man's chest. Looking down at the smoking wound, Renbato clutched at it before he fell to the catwalk, apparently dead.

Vincent wasn't taking any chances. If the man had survived his head being blown off, a simple shot through the heart shouldn't do anything at all. The Renbato whose head he had smashed into the stasis pod was just beginning to recover, so Vincent holstered Cerberus, slid up behind him, and broke his neck with a quick, sharp twist. He hit the floor, unable to move.

Silence reigned for a moment, and Vincent frowned. This was entirely too easy. Disregarding the man's strange ability to duplicate himself, Renbato's durability seemed to have gone from incredibly high to that of a normal human.

Then again, perhaps that was part of his power. Maybe…

Vincent stopped as something began to build at the edge of his hearing. It sounded almost like rushing wind, or an incoming gale…

He recoiled from the edge of the catwalk as a thick, red-black cloud of what looked like rippling liquid roared up from below. It poured itself over the two Renbato bodies, bubbling and frothing over for a few seconds before withdrawing into itself, leaving nothing in its wake. It finally compressed itself into a single humanoid figure.

"That's an impressive trick," Vincent said.

Renbato laughed. "Of course it is. We of the Immaculate Swords are not so easily killed." He began to advance on Vincent, who retreated steadily. "The simplicity of it is beautiful. My consciousness is tied directly to my life-force, which I can split into five different bodies at will. The separated bodies are only a fifth as strong and durable as my complete form, but the benefits of numbers often outweigh these flaws. Unless my life-force is completely extinguished, I can never die. Any damage to one of the bodies is repaired automatically by a transfer of my life-force from the other four."

"And the liquid?" Vincent asked.

"That's what ties it all together," Renbato replied. "I'm not going to give anything more away, of course, even to a man who's about to die, but you're welcome to your theories… as long as you're alive enough to have them."

He broke into a run, and where there had been one of him there were suddenly five, his body melting into the strange liquid and reforming in five different places. Vincent fired five times in as many seconds, shooting each Renbato straight through the head. However, even as the fifth jerked backwards, dead, the first one healed back up and kept coming, restored by an infusion of liquid from the other Renbatos. The liquid arced between them like a thing alive – which, on second thought, it probably was.

Vincent hurled himself off of the catwalk and fell into the depths below, knowing he couldn't fight all five of them at once. His path took him straight toward the next outer catwalk down. He slammed into the railing hard enough that he felt his ribs give way. The metal bent and screamed but didn't break; Vincent hauled himself up and rolled onto the catwalk, his chest on fire. He looked up to see the Renbatos leap off of the catwalk, all breaking down into the liquid. They spiraled down to the catwalk around him before effortlessly reforming themselves.

"Why didn't you do that the first time I jumped?" Vincent asked, trying to keep Renbato distracted and talking.

"I thought I could make it," all five Renbatos said at the same time. "This, I knew I couldn't."

"Why do you insist on fighting in this form when you could just turn into liquid and choke me to death?"

"Do you always talk this much when you fight? Or is it just when you're stalling for time?" They charged Vincent again, moving as one, and he switched tactics, lashing out with an arc of lightning that blasted all of the Renbatos at once. It wasn't quite powerful enough to stop them, but they all staggered and looked somewhat worse for the wear before three of them liquefied and then reformed behind Vincent, cutting off his escape routes and preventing him from repeating the maneuver.

"That won't work a second time," they said, and they fell upon him.

Vincent was forced to the ground under the relentless assault. He felt bones cracking where they landed especially nasty blows, and he could not muster a proper defense.

Then the answer came to him. The lightning attack had hit all of them, yet there had been no healing liquid shooting between them. Renbato's greatest strength was also his weakness.

He had boasted that only destroying his entire life-force could kill him, and that was true, but it wasn't as though Vincent was fighting five people, each with their own life-force. They comprised a single individual who was able to split himself into five parts. He was only fighting one opponent here, an opponent whose life-force was exceptionally strong but singular nonetheless. To restore one of his bodies, he needed to subtract from the totality of that life-force, and he didn't even have any control over when and how the subtraction took place.

Vincent summoned a burst of strength from deep within himself. He hurled one of the Renbatos off of him, breaking free of the storm of punches and kicks. As the Renbato tried to get up, Vincent buried his shoulder in the man's back, sending him flying over the edge of the catwalk.

"You know that won't work," the other four Renbatos said as the one Vincent had sent flying collapsed into liquid in mid-air and started arcing back toward the catwalk.

"No," Vincent said. "But this will."

He threw his gauntleted hand out and blasted the liquid with a bolt of lightning he maintained with great effort, pouring massive amounts of energy into it. The other Renbatos all shrieked, pain scrawled across their features. The liquid began to arc inexorably from their bodies to the sizzling mass that Vincent was blasting with pure electricity.

"What… are… you… doing?" they all snarled.

"Killing you," Vincent replied, his eyes flashing. Deducing how Renbato's power worked had been easy once he'd seen enough of it. The man used the mutagenic properties of the disease for regeneration and duplication, but it all depended on the mysterious liquid. If Vincent attacked it, Renbato was unable defend himself, and because he had no control over his healing process, there was no way for him to stop losing vitality.

"Oh, very good," the Renbatos said. "You've figured it all out except for one thing, Vincent Valentine."

The liquid that Vincent was continuously blasting with lightning suddenly thickened and coalesced into a vaguely humanoid form that looked only half-finished. Its limbs were small and weak, its head was barely half the size it should be, all its bones protruded from beneath its skin, and it wailed horribly as it fell to its death.

Renbato's four remaining bodies liquefied and collapsed back into one. He looked beaten up, but he was still very much alive. "It's true that a direct energy attack on the liquid is the weakness of fighting with multiple bodies, but now that I've wounded you all I need to do is fight with one and I can overpower you easily. I've hurt you much more than you've hurt me. You lose, Vincent Valentine."

"Really?" Vincent asked. "What if I can utterly destroy your body in a single shot?"

Renbato laughed, the sound grating on Vincent's nerves. "What will you do? Take thirty seconds to gather the necessary energy for an incinerating blast? I can kill you before you're half-done."

"I'm not going to do anything," Vincent replied. "He is."

Renbato's eyes widened and he whirled to see Cloud standing behind him, the First Tsurugi gripped in both hands, its blade shimmering wildly with pent-up spirit energy.

"Shit," Renbato said.

In the next instant, the Blade Beam for which Cloud had been gathering energy for nearly a minute slammed into Renbato so hard that it reduced him to a dry, smoking stain.

Cloud calmly holstered the First Tsurugi before he brushed himself off. He looked at Vincent and said, "I found my sword."

The corner of Vincent's mouth twitched in a smile. "I noticed."

* * *

"Hold still," Cloud said. They had gone back up to the highest catwalk and retrieved Vincent's pack, which had their medical supplies in it. "Renbato did a number on you and we need to reset any broken bones before we hit you with a Cure."

Vincent winced as Cloud probed his ribcage, making sure the bones were not out of place before applying a stabilizing wrap. "I'll be fine," he tried to insist.

"Being careful can't hurt," Cloud said.

Vincent kept himself still as Cloud tightly wrapped his torso in bandages. "So, where did you find the First Tsurugi?"

"In the armory, just like you said it would probably be," Cloud replied. "Forty-five years and not a hint of rust. It's like it was waiting for me… as stupid as that sounds."

"It doesn't sound stupid," Vincent said with a small smile. "Did you find the elevator too?"

"Not yet. I bet it's in the same area as the armory, though." Cloud finished the wrap and then Vincent felt his injuries heal at a preternatural rate when the blonde channeled his energy through the Restore materia that Vincent had brought. He stood and stretched, feeling only a couple of slight twinges where the new bone was still soft and pliable.

"We need to retrieve a sample of Renbato's remains," Vincent said.

Cloud raised an eyebrow at the blackened stain that used to be Renbato. "I didn't leave any. I thought that was the point."

Vincent shook his head. "No, there'll be something at the bottom of the shaft. When I was fighting him, he had to cut out a significant part of his life-force, and it took on the form of some kind of homunculus. It… fell."

"Oh." Cloud made a distasteful face. "There's not going to be much left."

"That's fine," Vincent said. "We only need a small sample; a drop of fluid will do." He looked down and added, somewhat unnecessarily, "I'll collect it. Just show me how to get down there."

Cloud led the way to a series of stairs that took them from catwalk to catwalk, until nearly twenty minutes later they had reached the bottom. Vincent's flame revealed that this area was an enormous forest of black piping and tubing, sometimes twice their height.

"Do you know where the thing fell?" Cloud asked.

"Somewhat," Vincent said. He remembered where the homunculus had dropped from and where they were now in relation to it.

They moved through the pipes, which were icy cold to the touch. It was slow going, but eventually they made it around, and Vincent said, "There it is."

Cloud followed his pointing finger, and then made a disgusted face. "Eugh."

"That's what happens when you fall so far," Vincent said, stepping past some pipes to the dead, splattered lump on the ground. He pulled a small, capped glass capsule and a pair of forceps out of his pack. He unscrewed the cap on the capsule and with the forceps picked up a small, wet chunk of flesh, dropped it in the capsule, and screwed the glass container shut again.

"Great," Cloud said. "I now never have to see anything like that ever again. Can we go?"

Vincent nodded. "This is more than enough to give us an analysis of Renbato's cellular structure. We need to figure it out."

Cloud frowned. "Figure what out?"

"He was a Lost," Vincent said. "But he was sane and had formidable powers given to him by the disease. We need to figure out how he did it, because if we do, we can probably figure out how to control the disease's spread or even cure the infected. It's a struggle for survival right now because of the environment and the disease hitting us from both fronts, but if we took care of the disease, we could start taking measures toward making Gaea livable again."

"Then I'd say that coming back for my sword was worth it," Cloud observed.

"Indeed." Vincent secured everything in his pack. "Now, we just need to find that elevator and we can get the hell out of here. By this time the day after tomorrow we'll be back at Protectorate headquarters."

"Sounds like a plan." Cloud turned and started back toward the stairs to the catwalk above.

Vincent followed in silence, watching Cloud's back as he considered their situation. Now that the issue of the sword was resolved and all they had to do to get out of here was find a private elevator, his mind began to turn toward his friend's issues. Cloud was trying to put up a brave front in an attempt to avoid going back to the way he had been before the Sephiroth twins had forced him to snap out of it, but he had to be suffering terribly – his lover was dead, as well as two of his best friends and a whole host of the people he had known. Everyone else was now more than four decades older than he was. Vincent made a mental note to make Cloud promise to talk to Yuffie about the way he had to be feeling; she had a positive effect on people that Vincent had learned not to undervalue.

Once they got back to the halls for the offices, living quarters, and the armory where Cloud had found his sword, they performed an extensive sweep of the places Cloud hadn't passed through already. They found, offset from but directly connecting to what had to have been one of the Project's executives' private quarters, an airlock just like the one they had gone through to get in from Deepground.

No longer concerned with stealth, Vincent blasted the outer doors open, and then Cloud stepped inside with a charged Blade Beam and blew the other set of doors to shreds. On the other side was a large pair of elevator doors.

"Bingo," Cloud said.

Vincent walked forward and hit the call button, which stayed unlit and dead. He sighed. "I suppose we have to do this the hard way." He got his left hand in between the doors and started to pull until he could hook his other hand through as well, and then with only a little effort he forced the doors open to reveal the elevator, which was also without power.

Cloud stepped inside, popped the emergency hatch on the ceiling, and pulled himself up, then gave Vincent a hand. The two of them stared up into the darkness of the elevator shaft, which had to extend for at least a mile or more.

"Want to try to get the elevator working before we go on up?" Cloud asked.

"Can't hurt," Vincent replied. He leaped back down into the elevator, and Cloud could hear the sounds of panels being pried open and electricity being discharged. The elevator suddenly jerked under his feet, and he nearly lost his balance before he was able to steady himself. "Got it!" Vincent's voice floated up from below. "Get in here and we'll be on our way."

Cloud dropped back down into the elevator and asked, "What did you do?" It was general pandemonium in there, with wires hanging out of the walls and bits and pieces of metal scattered about.

"A little guesswork," Vincent replied before pressing the up button. The elevator lurched into action and shot up the shaft, going at a good clip considering the distance it had to cover.

Cloud breathed a long, relieved sigh. "Finally. I can't wait to see the sun again."

Vincent started to laugh, first chuckling quietly and then breaking into full-on laughter while Cloud stared at him, puzzled. "What did I say?"

Finally getting control of himself, Vincent said, "Oh, you'll see the sun. I promise you that you will." He laid his head against the wall and closed his eyes. "I promise."


	8. Chapter 8

They spent the evening in Midgar waiting for Red XIII to pick them up. Fortunately, the city's inhabitants steered clear of their campfire, the sight of the flames too alien for them to know what to do when they came across it. The city was dead in more ways than just one.

Finally, Red XIII arrived. His attack transport roared down out of the early-morning sky, disturbing Cloud from a restless sleep while Vincent stood watch. The sight of Tifa asking him where he had gone faded as Cloud opened his eyes and saw the transport coming in for a flyby on the roof of the building where the two men had spent the night.

"That same dream," he murmured.

"What?" Vincent asked.

"Nothing," Cloud replied. "I guess that's our ride."

The transport stopped to hover next to the rooftop, and the cockpit popped open. Vincent saw that the transport, which normally had room for only one passenger, had recently been modified for two. He allowed himself a small smile at Red XIII's optimism.

The beast was at the controls, and he stared at Cloud for a minute before he shouted, "Well, don't just stand there! Get on board!" The two of them took his invitation with relish, leaping onto the transport. Red XIII closed the cockpit and started the craft off back towards the Central Continent, not even bothering to look at the controls but instead craning his head around so he could look at Cloud.

"It's really you," Red XIII said. "Your scent is even the same as I remember."

"It's good to see you too, Red," Cloud said with a grin. "Nice… arms."

"Thank you. I made them myself… with a little help, of course." Red XIII looked over at Vincent. "So, did everything go well?"

"Yes and no," Vincent replied. "I found Cloud, obviously, and at his insistence we found Project R's old base of operations." He didn't mention the First Tsurugi; there was no doubt that with the power of hindsight Cloud would be embarrassed about having wanted to go back and retrieve it. "Not only did we find enough Lost in stasis to destroy the world, we also ran into someone who called himself Renbato Wŭgerèn."

"And?"

"He was a Lost, but not. He was definitely infected, but he had complete control of the disease and he even used it to give himself the power to duplicate himself and split his life-force across five identical bodies. Cloud and I fought him and we beat him without too much trouble –" as expected, Cloud stayed silent about the beating Vincent had taken in exchange for Vincent not mentioning the blonde's sword – "and we got a sample of him for analysis."

"Sounds like all's well that ends well," the beast said.

"It would be," Cloud said, "except for the fact that he said he was a member of some group called the Immaculate Swords. Given our luck, they're all probably like Renbato."

"I see." Red XIII checked his readouts. "It will be some time until we arrive back at Protectorate Headquarters. I recommend we bring Cloud up to speed on everything that has happened in the past forty-five years and answer whatever questions he may have."

"Sounds like a plan," Vincent said. "I've already started on that count, but I'm sure you can do things more methodically than I can, Red."

"Very good." Red XIII cleared his throat, which sounded like the noise a cat might make when hacking up a hairball, and said, "So, Cloud, where would you like to begin?"

Cloud, who was staring out the windows of the cockpit at the desolation below him with a clear look of shock on his face, blinked himself out of his reverie. "Oh. I…" He stopped for a moment, looking contemplative, and then went on, "Well, Red…" He ran a hand through his hair.

"Would you please tell me about Tifa?"

* * *

They arrived back at Old Nibelheim – though for Cloud it was just Nibelheim – around mid-afternoon. Red XIII brought the attack chopper down smoothly. "You two go ahead, I have to secure her," he said. Vincent got out first and Cloud made to follow, but the beast suddenly said, "Wait."

"What?" Cloud asked.

Red XIII moved his snout very close to Cloud's face. Then, his large, pink tongue shot out and licked Cloud across the cheek, very lightly, just once.

Neither of them said anything for a moment and then Red XIII said, "We will now never speak of this again."

"Of course," Cloud said, managing to crack a small smile. "Thanks, Red."

The beast nodded and made a dismissive gesture with one of his forepaws while his arms set about shutting down the transport. Cloud felt the smile slip off of his face as he dropped to the tarmac, turned, and saw the Shin-Ra mansion.

"Home sweet home," Vincent said, his tone only a little bitter.

"Huh," Cloud grunted. He started walking towards the building, passing by the headstones on the front lawn without even a glance.

Vincent frowned and called, "Cloud, don't you want to…?"

"No," Cloud called back. "No, I don't."

With a sigh, Vincent followed Cloud inside. This was going to be a difficult period of adjustment for the man, and all he could do was help him along as best he could. That would have to be enough.

At least, he hoped it would be enough.

* * *

Even after everything he had been told, even after seeing the headstones, seeing Yuffie was the biggest shock that Cloud had yet experienced.

She was waiting for him in the mansion's foyer, and when he entered she sprang out of the chair she'd been sitting in, said "Cloud!" and pulled him into a hug. She was still Yuffie, and he could feel the familiar strength in her, but she looked so far removed from the Yuffie he remembered. Her hair was grey with one or two black streaks that stubbornly refused to stop fighting the good fight, her face was lined with age, and she was wearing a jumpsuit that actually covered her legs and arms – he found it hard to believe, but she was making a concession to her age.

"Yuffie," he said, trying not to sound too shocked. "I… it's good to see you again."

She squeezed him tighter for a moment and then let go so she could look at him. "Wow. It's just like Vince said… you're just the same as you were forty-five years ago. Just like I remember you." She made a face. "Compared to how you remember me, I must look like shit."

"What are you talking about? You look like you haven't aged a day," Cloud deadpanned.

Yuffie slapped him lightly across the chest. "Did you forget who you're talking to?" she asked. "I'm Yuffie. I don't go for that polite crap. I'm old and wrinkly, Cloud, now say it."

Cloud looked at her with an expression that he hoped would convey the sheer discomfort being forced to say that would cause him. Apparently it worked, because she laughed before assuring him, "Don't worry too much about it. Come with me, Reeve wants to see you but he can't leave his throne."

"…Throne?"

"Reeve is in control of a lot of Cait Siths nowadays," Vincent supplied. Cloud looked over his shoulder. He saw that the gunman had stepped in behind him and had been keeping quiet while Yuffie greeted him. "The throne, as Yuffie calls it, is a suite of data-sifters and interpolating hardware that Reeve hooks into synaptically. There's a chair he sits in while he's at it, hence…"

"I see." The two men started following Yuffie up the stairs. As Cloud ascended the staircase, the word 'synaptically' triggered something in his memory. It took him a moment to put a finger on it, but once he had it down he asked, "I just remembered – whatever happened to Shelke Rui?"

Vincent and Yuffie exchanged a glance. Yuffie finally said, "Well, after the WRO imploded, there really wasn't any way to get her the daily mako exposures she needed to survive, short of commandeering an old mako reactor and dunking her in the runoff. It got harder and harder for her to function, but nobody said anything because we couldn't just leave her behind. Even Vincent didn't even think of suggesting it." Vincent opened his mouth to protest that last bit, but decided better of it when Yuffie shot him a sidelong glance. "Anyway, one day I went in to check on her – we had gotten together some loyal WRO members and were renting some homes in Gongaga, before the disease spread that far south – and she was gone. Nobody ever saw her again."

"Not that we didn't try," Vincent said. "We sent out search teams and looked for her for three days, but we just couldn't find her. She must have absconded sometime in the night, perhaps with the intent of removing herself as a burden, and…" He trailed off. "It was already impossible for her to walk on her own. She took a wheelchair, and there was a waterfall nearby…"

The three of them shared a moment of silence until Yuffie opened a door on the second level. "Reeve's right through here."

Cloud stepped into what had once been a study. The room was lit by the soft glow of dozens of monitors lining the walls. In the center of the room was a large, padded chair, bolted onto which were many large and unidentifiable pieces of equipment festooned with multiple blinking lights and readouts.

Sitting in the chair, looking almost as though he was in a trance, was Reeve. He had aged even more dramatically than Yuffie, and he looked thin – his cheekbones protruded sharply from his face, and the uniform he wore, standard WRO blue, hung off of him, showing he was little more than skin and bones.

"He really doesn't eat enough," Yuffie said in a low voice. "Spends all his time in here directing his Cait Siths to help people and such. Great times and all, but seriously? We need to fatten him up."

At the sound of Yuffie's voice, Reeve sighed and began to slowly open his eyes. Cloud bit back a gasp when the former WRO Commissioner opened them completely. His eyes were a pale, milky white. "Yuffie, I left orders not to be disturbed until Cloud –" He hesitated. "Wait. Cloud, are you there?"

"Yes," Cloud said, his voice no louder than a whisper. The shock was written plainly on his face. "I'm here."

"I knew it!" Reeve pushed himself out of the chair and onto his feet, looking very frail. He began to feel his way toward Cloud, obviously very familiar with the room and all the machines in it because he knew where to duck his head and where not to walk. "Yuffie, is it true? He hasn't changed a bit?"

"Of course it's true," Yuffie said. "Have you ever known Vince to lie, Reeve?"

"I suppose not," Reeve laughed. He finally got within arm's length of Cloud, felt him standing there, and pulled him into a hug. "I've missed you, Cloud," he sighed. "The fact that you're alive – well, it's really the first great news in ages."

"I'm glad to hear that, I guess," Cloud said uneasily.

"Let me look at you." Reeve let go of Cloud and began to inspect the blonde's face, lightly trailing his fingertips down it and memorizing its contours. "Amazing," he murmured. "I'll have to actually get a look at you with a Cait Sith later, but for right now I'm fine just knowing that you're alive."

"What do you mean, actually get a look at me?" Cloud asked.

"I've developed some fairly terrible cataracts, so I can't see very well – at all, really – with my eyes. However, I can use a Cait Sith's visual and audio data instead of my own sight and hearing, at least partially simulating a complete transfer of my consciousness. Basically, I can see just fine as long as I'm using somebody else's eyes."

"You can't have them treated?" Cloud asked, so upset that he looked like he had been punched in the gut.

"Who would do it?" Reeve replied. "We may have the tech lying around for it somewhere, but there aren't any optometrists in this day and age, Cloud. People who even know how to make glasses are a rarity. Restorative Materia only accelerates the body's own healing processes, as you know, and this isn't going to heal – ever – so I just have to deal with it." He shrugged. "It's not really that bad."

"I…" Cloud struggled for words and none came to him except the most basic and trite ones somebody could say in this situation. "I'm so sorry."

Reeve waved away Cloud's apology. "Don't be. It's not as though you made me get old." He turned and headed back towards the chair. "I would chat with you more, but I'm currently managing the resolution of some pretty tense situations across the Central Continent. We'll have plenty of time to talk later, after all."

"Of course," Cloud said faintly. "Good luck."

"Thank you. Oh, I believe Marlene is on duty working maintenance on the attack transports – you should go down there and say hello."

"I think I will. Goodbye for now, Reeve." Cloud stepped outside the room, closing the door behind him before he let himself put his face in his hands and just concentrate on breathing.

"I know," Yuffie said. "It gets me every time I see him too. He never complains, he just helps as many people as he can with all the Cait Siths we've managed to cobble together over the years." She sighed and patted Cloud on the shoulder. "This must be hard for you, but it's going to get better, Cloud, I promise."

"I appreciate it," Cloud said automatically.

"Come on," Yuffie said. "Let's go see Marlene."

* * *

The walk from the mansion down to the attack transport hangar was brief. They passed Red XIII's transport, which he was helping the ground crew inspect and refuel, and he waved at them. The hangar was a short distance away from the landing pads, a large, squat building with an open roof which Cloud assumed could be closed in poor weather.

The hangar was filled nearly to capacity with five attack transports, all of them being attended to by their own particular maintenance crew. Shouting orders to one such crew was Marlene, standing by the attack transport nearest to the entrance and snapping rapid-fire commands at the mechanics scurrying over the craft like insects over a piece of food.

"Marlene?" Cloud asked, coming within a few feet of her.

She glanced over her shoulder, looked back at the transport, and then did a double-take when she processed who had just addressed her. She spun all the way around to stare at Cloud, who smiled weakly. "It really is you, isn't it?" he asked.

"Cloud," Marlene breathed. She stepped forward and reached out almost tentatively to brush a hand against his face. "So the rumors going around were true. You're alive."

"It's good to see you again," Cloud said, not sure what to do. "I… I'm sorry I disappeared. I didn't…"

Marlene shook her head. "We know it wasn't your fault, Cloud. Nobody blames you." She pulled him into a hug and then gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "It's been so long."

"The last time I remember seeing you," Cloud said, "you were still a kid. I never… you've grown up."

"Yeah. It wasn't as much fun as everyone made it out to be." Marlene looked over Cloud's shoulder at Yuffie and Vincent. "Thanks for bringing him back, Vincent."

"It was nothing," Vincent said. Cloud frowned; there was something in the way they talked to one another that seemed strained, almost forced, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He filed the fact away to investigate later.

"I wish I could have been there," Cloud said. "You'll have to tell me about everything that's happened someday."

"Someday," Marlene echoed. "For right now, Cloud, I need to get back to work. We'll sit down and have a drink later." The idea of Marlene having a drink with him seemed absurd, but then all Cloud had to do was look at her to realize it wasn't absurd at all. Biologically speaking, she was at this point almost twice his age. "I'll see you around." She smiled and turned back to the transport, then began yelling orders at the crew again.

"Come on," Yuffie said. "It really is too early to start drinking. Lemme give you the grand tour."

"Sounds good," Cloud replied, not really thinking about the prospect. As Marlene had smiled and turned away, a wave of nostalgia and heartache had hit him like a blow. The smile that Marlene had given him had been Tifa's smile, warm and familiar, and a hundred memories of that smile crashed into him like a wave lashing against the shore.

* * *

Vincent woke in the middle of the night when he realized Cloud was gone.

It had been a difficult day for the man – being reintroduced to people who had aged forty-five years while he'd stood still, seeing the headstones of his friends and his lover. Vincent appreciated that. Still, though Old Nibelheim was as secure a place as any on the Planet, he'd stressed that Cloud should stay inside at all times.

Vincent got out of bed and saw that the cot he'd put in his room for Cloud to use was indeed empty. The mansion had no spare rooms – every one was either occupied, being used for storage, or not suitable as a bedroom – so Vincent had agreed to share with Cloud. The door was slightly ajar, and Vincent silently slipped out of his room to look around the mansion. Moonlight streamed through the large window behind the stairs, illuminating everything in a pearly white glow, but Cloud wasn't inside.

Working on a hunch, Vincent descended the stairs and exited the mansion, heading into Old Nibelheim. The town had mostly survived the Fall – the houses were still where they had been forty-five years ago. Protectorate staff were housed there in addition to the ordinary people that made their homes in the town, but one of the houses always stood dark and empty.

Vincent walked up to the house that Tifa had once lived in.

After AVALANCHE had relocated here, she had moved back into her old place, the family that had lived there having been some of the first victims of the disease. Since her death so many years ago, nobody had wanted it. It was Tifa's house through and through, and the idea of anyone else living there seemed intolerable, so it stayed empty and weathered the passage of time and the elements.

Vincent quietly let himself into the house. As soon as he was inside, he could hear faint music. He headed up the stairs to the second floor and walked into Tifa's bedroom. A thick layer of dust covered everything – the rug, the antique bed frame, the dressers, the wardrobe, the piano.

Cloud sat at the piano, playing a familiar tune on it over and over again, staring at the stand in front of him even though it bore no sheet music for him to read. Vincent watched him for a minute before approaching. "Cloud. You should come back to the mansion."

"I can't."

"Cloud…" Vincent laid a hand on his friend's shoulder but Cloud shrugged it off.

"I can't, Vincent." Cloud stopped playing and looked up. In the moonlight, Vincent could see that the man's eyes were red again. "I can't go back there and face everyone. Yuffie is so old and pretends not to be bitter about it even though she hates it, Reeve is blind and trying to live through his Cait Siths, Marlene has nothing left but her work…" He dropped his gaze back to the piano and started playing again. The instrument badly needed to be tuned. "And Barret and Cid and Tifa are all dead."

"This isn't your fault," Vincent said. "None of it is."

Cloud stopped playing the music again. "I can't face them."

"I told you it's not your fault."

"DAMMIT, HOW CAN I KNOW THAT?" Cloud slammed his fists down on the keys, hard, the discordant sound ripping out and disrupting the stillness of the night. "There are so many things I could have done differently. I could have checked with Reeve about Project R. I could have been on my guard and not let their attack take me by surprise."

He buried his face in his hands. "Do you know what the last thing I said to Tifa was, Vincent? I don't mean 'goodbye' and 'I'll see you after work' and that sort of thing. The last conversation we had – it was about coffee. I told her I didn't like the brand she had been buying, that it was too strong for me, and she promised she would buy a different kind. Then I told her I'd see her later and I went out expecting to make a delivery before the men from Project R showed up." Cloud looked up at Vincent, the tears in his eyes shining in the moonlight. "We talked about _coffee._ I didn't even tell her I loved her before I was out the door because I was going to be late."

"Cloud…"

Cloud stood up and grabbed the piano bench with both hands. Vincent faded out of the way as the other man screamed, raw and hurt and full of anger, and hurled the bench across the room to crash into the bed, snapping the bed frame in half. "I SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE! THERE HAD TO HAVE BEEN SOMETHING I COULD DO!" He staggered over to the window and started pounding his fists on the sill, rattling the glass and making the entire wall creak. "IF I HAD BEEN THERE WHEN I WAS NEEDED, THINGS WOULDN'T BE THIS WAY! PEOPLE WOULD HAVE LIVED IF I HAD BEEN THERE!" He pounded on the windowsill one last time and looked at Vincent again, a hollow stare that was painful to meet. "Tifa," he croaked. "Tifa would have lived."

"I know it's hard right now," Vincent said, "but you'll eventually be able to accept that it's not your fault and that you couldn't do anything. You'll begin to move on. You'll find ways to deal with it, and you'll begin to heal."

Cloud punched his fist straight through the window, suddenly furious again. "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU TO SAY THAT, VINCENT? HOW CAN YOU POSSIBLY KNOW?"

"Because I was there when they died," Vincent said, very quietly, "and I couldn't do anything about it either."

A thunderous silence reigned between the two of them for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Cloud pulled his fist out of the window, unclenched it. He took a deep, shuddering breath, the sound of his teeth grinding together very loud in the quiet of the night.

"Come on," Vincent said, putting a hand on Cloud's shoulder again. This time, his friend didn't shrug it off. "Let's go back to the mansion. You'll feel better in the morning."

Cloud said nothing, but let Vincent lead him downstairs and out of the house. As they started back up towards the Shin-Ra mansion, he looked back at Tifa's house one last time. For an instant he imagined that he could see her through the window, seated at the piano and playing that familiar music. Then he blinked and saw the broken glass and the missing bench, and the music faded.


	9. Chapter 9

The next morning, Cloud cracked one eye open and peered at the only clock in Vincent's room. When he saw that it was almost ten, he pulled himself out of bed with a groan. His fist still hurt from where he'd put it through a window last night. Despite his friends' offers of Restore Materia, he'd refused heal his hand or even dull the pain. He needed to have much better control of himself.

Stumbling out of Vincent's room, Cloud saw that the mansion seemed empty except for Reeve's operating room. The door was slightly ajar and the blue glow emanating from within was just enough for Cloud to see that Reeve was inside, sitting in his chair. Cloud poked his head in. "Morning, Reeve. It's Cloud."

"Cloud, good morning," Reeve said, not opening his eyes. "Vincent asked me to tell you that he'll be downstairs analyzing the sample you got from that Renbato character if you need him. I imagine that Yuffie will be down there with him."

"Thanks. Do you need anything?"

Reeve shook his head. "Not at the moment, thank you, and if that changes I have a Cait Sith on hand that can bring me anything that I might need. I appreciate your concern, though."

"No problem." Cloud withdrew into the hallway and headed downstairs into the mansion's kitchen to get himself some breakfast. It was well-stocked, and with a variety of food – he'd imagined that without the ability to grow crops people's diets would naturally suffer. Apparently, however, they had found some sort of solution to that problem. He resolved to ask Vincent about it.

As Cloud was frying up a pair of eggs – what kind of eggs they were, he didn't know and didn't want to think about – Yuffie came into the kitchen. "Oh. Good morning, Cloud."

"Morning," Cloud said.

"Are you okay?" Yuffie asked. "Vince told me you went and hurt yourself last night."

"Nothing too serious," Cloud replied. "I'm mostly over it."

"Good to hear. Vince is downstairs –"

"Analyzing the Renbato sample." He looked up at her. "Reeve told me."

"Of course. Careful, your eggs are burning."

Cloud pulled the pan off of the stove and scraped the eggs out of it onto a plate. "Thanks. Can I get you anything?"

Yuffie laughed. "I learned how to cook properly years ago. Don't worry about me."

"Suit yourself." He ran the pan under some cold water and stuck it back on the stove to unstick any remnants of the eggs before putting it in the sink to soak for a bit. "Tell me something."

"What's up?" she asked.

"What do you do around here? I mean, what's your job?"

Yuffie sighed as she poured herself a glass of water. "I don't really have one. Back when I was younger I was an Inquisitor just like Vince, but when the bad guys started getting faster and stronger than me – when I started slowing down and getting weaker, that is – I knew it was time to give it up. I just mostly make sure that Reeve's taken care of and help with whatever I can." She sipped at her drink, clearly dissatisfied about her situation. "Father probably would have reprimanded me for being idle, but there's really nothing I can do. I would be a transport pilot, but even after all these years I've never been able to get over my motion sickness."

"I see." Cloud swallowed a mouthful of egg, which tasted better than he'd anticipated it would. "I mentioned this to Red XIII yesterday, but between meeting everyone again, getting the grand tour, and getting drunk and reminiscing I forgot to ask you and Reeve. Have you ever heard of a group called the Immaculate Swords?"

"Can't say I have," Yuffie replied. "Was this Renbato person one of them?"

"He claimed to be. Vincent and I would have written him off as being insane except for the fact that he was obviously in control of his faculties and he used the disease to give himself special powers. Like I said to Red XIII, given our luck, there's probably more like him."

"It does seem that way," Yuffie agreed sagely. "Whenever we're hanging onto life by a thread, some group of super-powerful bozos always seems to crop up and give us hell. It's like a recurring theme of this place."

Cloud chuckled. "Well, I'm sure we'll be able to handle it. They couldn't possibly be as bad as Sephiroth, right?"

* * *

"I've found the method by which Renbato was able to control the disease," Vincent said as soon as Cloud entered the basement. He was seated at a table with an array of surgical tools, a microscope. On his hands were wearing a pair of rubber gloves he had taken from the box sitting to his left.

"Really?" Cloud asked.

"Yes. Put on a pair of gloves and look at this."

Cloud moved to the table. He retrieved a pair of gloves, noticing as he did so that Vincent had retrieved the capsule with the piece of Renbato in it. A scalpel sat next to the microscope, and on the microscope's slide was a very thin strip of flesh that Cloud had to assume belonged to the late Immaculate Sword member. He got the gloves on. "What am I looking for?"

"Just take a look," Vincent said. "You'll see exactly what I'm talking about."

With a shrug, Cloud put his eye to the microscope. He saw a variety of types of blood vessels, some amoebas, various other bacteria… and then he saw something else, something that stood out like a huge, black warning sign. These were not ordinary cells – they were sleek, aggressive-looking, and latched onto other cells with hundreds of tiny proboscises extruded from their bodies. Cloud had seen them before in his own blood.

"JENOVA cells," he said. "You think you've seen the last of something…"

"You can't see the disease on this microscope, because it's viral," Vincent said, "but it works by getting into the genetic code of the human body and modifying it. However…"

"What happens when it gets into a human who's already been modified by JENOVA cells?" Cloud asked.

"That's the big question, isn't it?" Vincent replied. "JENOVA cells, as you well know, take over the host's mind if he's not strong enough to deal with their influence. If, however, the host can survive their incorporation into his system, he's considerably strengthened by their presence. The details of how it all works out are beyond me. The disease, on the other hand, works by taking over the body's systems and overwriting key parts of the human genome. Different strains can produce different kinds of creatures."

"Just a minute," Cloud said. "I know this might sound weird, but – don't we have a name for this disease?"

Vincent shrugged. "There's a scientific name as long as your sword. Nobody bothers to remember it. I've heard it variously called the Plague of Gaea, the Great Death, the Wretched Fever… None of us in the Protectorate, however, call it anything but the disease." He looked at the sliver of flesh on the slide. "There's never any confusion because we never talk about any other sickness."

"I see." Cloud cleared his throat, glad he'd asked but not sure if he was happy with the answer. "You were saying?"

"Yes. JENOVA's genome is entirely different from a human's, so the disease must react differently when it comes into contact with it. The cells in Renbato's body all show the telltale signs of disease infection, but the JENOVA cells look the same as ever – if I extracted some of your blood and looked at it I'm willing to bet they'd be exactly the same in your blood as in Rebato's.

"So that means we essentially have two groups of foreign bodies both working on the human genome. JENOVA cells, if the host's mind can't hold up under their strain, cause a psychotic break and madness but still augment physical strength and resilience impressively. The disease causes horrible mutations and madness. Now, what if you expose a SOLDIER to the disease? Their genes are already overlaid with some of JENOVA's, which the disease apparently can't or doesn't want to influence. So that means that rather than rewriting the majority of the human genome, the disease only rewrites some of it."

"You mean," Cloud said, "just the parts of it that keep humans from doing the kinds of things that Renbato could do."

"Exactly." Vincent dropped the microscope slide, the glass tube with the rest of Renbato, and his gloves into a nearby wastebasket emblazoned with a biohazard symbol. He took the scalpel and dropped it into a nearby beaker of water, which he then hit with a quick blast from his Fire Materia that set the water boiling. "When you introduce JENOVA cells and then the disease into a human being's system, if they can keep their mind throughout the experience, they become a Lost that has control over itself and has capabilities far exceeding any mundane mutates."

A horrible thought suddenly struck Cloud. "Vincent. You remember that I told you Project R wanted to run some tests on me. Because of my JENOVA cells."

Vincent nodded. "I think that this may have been Project R's ultimate goal. A disease that would purge the entire population, except for the select few who were given the only thing that even approaches a vaccine for the disease – a JENOVA injection. Those elites would then also be elevated to the level of superior beings, at least in the sick minds of whoever conceived this project."

"But unless I'm remembering incorrectly, at the time of Project R I was the last known person on Gaea to carry JENOVA cells. How could they have designed a disease to interact with it unless they had a sample?"

"With the kind of connections they had to have possessed, they could easily have gotten some of your blood," Vincent replied. "After that it would be a simple matter of cultivating a batch of JENOVA cells for study and testing. I'm given to understand that they only reproduce under certain conditions, but they had plenty of time. They would have been able to do it."

"And once they had made their disease, they wanted to see how it would interact with somebody who had had the SOLDIER treatment and survived." Cloud looked disgusted. "I was going to be their lab rat."

Vincent nodded. "Luckily for you, the Second Meteor hit and something went wrong. The Data Materia with shipping schedules and delivery manifests shows that the disease had been shipped out in large quantities weeks before they ever approached you. It did what they wanted it to do to normal human beings, and obviously they thought it would behave as planned with you as well. When the Fall started, though, communications must have broken down and Project R had to have been forced to abandon their base of operations, leaving you behind. Then somebody got the wrong idea or a false signal and suddenly they were releasing the disease into towns' water supplies and into rivers."

Cloud looked at the wastebasket, at the biohazard sign marked in red that reminded him of blood. "So Renbato is the result of a human being given the SOLDIER treatment, coming out of it okay, and then being deliberately infected with the disease."

Vincent nodded. "Somebody out there has access to a ready source of mako, JENOVA cells, and a live disease source. These things might all be in the same place or they might be shipped in from different places around the world. The only thing that's certain is this: somebody discovered the true intent of Project R long before we did, and they're using it to make living weapons."

"We have to stop them. Whatever their intention is, it can't be good."

"Of course we have to stop them. The question is – where do we start?"

* * *

"The mako reactors are your best bet to start with," Reeve said.

Cloud nodded, then remembered that Reeve couldn't actually see the motion and said, "I agree." The two of them and Vincent were sitting in the mansion's living room, Reeve taking a break from controlling multiple Cait Siths during a period of relative calm throughout the Protectorate's domain. Yuffie was in the kitchen, making sandwiches. "The question, though, is which one we start at. There's Midgar, of course, but besides that there's also Fort Condor, the Underwater Reactor at Junon, Corel, and the one right here on Mount Nibel."

"As much as I hate to suggest this," Reeve said, "the likeliest choice for a reactor to draw the requisite mako from would probably be in Midgar. That gives these Immaculate Swords, whoever they are, the largest amount of relative privacy. The Western Continent is a wasteland and has no civilization. They could do whatever they wanted there."

"You're right, of course, but let's look at the facts about Midgar," Vincent said. "If they were using the mako reactors there, why not simply set up shop in Deepground? Really, they had no reason to think that anybody would be coming back anytime soon. We had no interest in delving down there before we learned that Cloud was still alive, and that was a freak accident. Logically, if they wanted to avoid detection, that would be the best place to do it. However, when we got there it was deserted and hadn't seen use in years. Furthermore, when Renbato confronted us, he told us his name and who he was working for, and promised that he would let us go peaceably if we simply didn't investigate the base. That hardly seems like the attitude of a group devoted to secrecy at all costs."

"Of course, now that you mention it, why didn't he want us investigating that base?" Cloud asked. "There must have been something in it that he didn't want us discovering."

"I'm fairly sure that he didn't want us ferreting out the true intentions behind Project R, that's all," Vincent replied. "And we deduced them through examining his remains, so I say that all's well that ends well."

"You can't be sure of that," Reeve pointed out. "There may have been something there that you simply didn't find that Renbato knew you might. It might have had nothing to do with what you two have discovered about the disease's interaction with JENOVA cells."

"If there was something that the Immaculate Swords didn't want us to find inside that base, and knew that we were going to end up there – Renbato had to know to be able to intercept us or follow us or whatever he did – why didn't he simply get there ahead of us, destroy whatever the thing in question was, and move on?" Vincent countered. "It must have had to do with what we've discovered, because nothing short of blowing the entire place to shreds could guarantee that there wouldn't be some scrap of data we might stumble across that would lead us to this conclusion."

"I have a third idea," Yuffie said. She had been standing outside, obviously waiting for the right moment to make a dramatic entrance. Cloud saw she had made them sandwiches, one of which she handed to him with a smile.

He bit into it and tasted what could only be Chocobo meat, which prompted him to raise an eyebrow at her. "There's a lot of inbreeding done by people who still have the money and the land to pursue hobbies like this," she explained. "This is what happens to the ones that don't quite make the cut because they turn out… special."

"Oh," Cloud said.

"What's your third idea?" Vincent asked, apparently not bothered by the fact that he was eating the genetic dregs of the Chocobo species.

"Reeve, you think these Immaculate Sword guys didn't want Vincent and Cloud to find something in the base. Vincent, you think if that were the case they would have just destroyed it unless it was something so widespread it'd be almost impossible to destroy. I say that Reeve is right – there's something in there the Immaculate Swords don't want us to find, but they can't just walk in and destroy it because it'd be just as hard to destroy as all the information relevant to what you two just figured out, and they can't just move it either."

Vincent nodded. "I follow your logic. What might this thing be?"

"Do I look psychic to you, Vince? That's as far as my genius goes."

"Hmm," Reeve said. "Well, now that we know where the private elevator is, it won't be a terrible hassle to send someone back down to conduct a much more thorough search."

"I hate backtracking," Cloud sighed around a mouthful of special Chocobo.

"Don't worry; I can send a Cait Sith and it can take its time," Reeve assured him. "I'd much rather have you two out hunting for these Immaculate Swords. We need to know who they are and what their agenda is."

"If they have one," Yuffie murmured.

"At any rate," Reeve went on, "if you don't think that they're using Midgar, Vincent, what reactor might they be using?"

"That's the thing," Vincent said. "The Underwater Reactor isn't so much underwater any more, considering there's not as much ocean as there used to be, but if they're going to be operating on the Western Continent, why not just use Midgar? Why go to the trouble of going through Junon, which in some ways is even worse than Midgar, just to get access to one reactor that's a couple thousand feet down what used to be a submerged continental shelf? In Midgar, they'd have access to six reactors."

"And if they were using any of the reactors here on the Central Continent, someone would probably have taken notice," Reeve said. "I see the problem here."

"Well, there is one place they could be based at that doesn't require a mako reactor to get the mako they need," Cloud said. They all looked at him curiously. "The North Crater."

"The North Crater has been covered in a miles-thick sheet of ice for a couple decades now," Yuffie said. "Otherwise we would have thought of it."

"I don't see the problem," Cloud said. "All you need is enough fire to melt through the ice, and once you get underground you're still descending into the Lifestream, where you can shower in as much mako as you want or can stand. I can't think of anywhere else where you can directly access the Lifestream except a mako reactor, and as all of you said, if they were using a reactor here we'd know."

Reeve made a contemplative sound. "I see your point, Cloud. Still, to go to such lengths to operate in the North Crater suggests that they don't want to be found, and we've already discussed the likelihood of that."

"Who says that if they're operating there they're doing it because they don't want to be found?" Cloud countered. "What if they're operating there for some other reason, one we can't know unless we investigate it ourselves? Send a reconnaissance probe or something to the North Crater, see if there are any signs of a settlement or even a hole in the ice that shouldn't be there. If I'm right, you'll find at least something, and we'll have an explanation."

"Cloud's right," Vincent said. "Send a scout, at least. Tell them it's just a routine flyby for some reason or another."

"Why would I conceal the real reason for the scouting run from the pilot?" Reeve asked. "They have a right to know."

"Renbato knew that I was in Deepground," Vincent said. "How else could he have shown up just in the nick of time to try to prevent Cloud and me from investigating Project R's old base? Now, I'm not ruling out the possibility of some esoteric method of detection they may have used, or perhaps even an ability to communicate with normal Losts –" the dozens of staring eyes flashed through his mind again – "but there's a much simpler explanation: we have a leak."

"A leak," Reeve repeated.

"Yes. Somebody in the Protectorate, knowingly or unknowingly, is leaking information to the Immaculate Swords or somebody they're associated with." Vincent took the last bite of his sandwich. "Now," he said after swallowing, "it's not as though we kept the fact that Cloud might still be alive particularly secret. We didn't keep my trip to Midgar very secret, either. Most everybody knew about it, and rumors were flying around like mad on top of that. However…"

"I don't like this," Reeve said. "Not one bit. I know everyone in the Protectorate, Vincent. They're all former WRO or people who joined up out of a sense of duty to humanity. I didn't take in any mercenaries or other people of questionable conduct."

"You took in people who believe that what they are doing is right," Vincent said. "How does that make them immune to bad decisions or mistaken opinions? It didn't make AVALANCHE immune back when they were blowing up mako reactors." Cloud flinched as though he had been slapped, but Vincent kept going. "We may have to face the fact that not everyone within the organization can be trusted. That's all I'm saying."

"I agree with Vincent," Yuffie said, looking grave. "As much as it sucks to admit it, as much as I like everyone here, people aren't perfect, Reeve. You can't check up on them and dictate their behavior like you can with Cait Siths."

"I am eminently aware of that," Reeve said, his tone becoming frosty. "You don't need to lecture me on how to deal with human beings." He ran a wrinkled hand across his brow. "All right. I'll ask Red XIII to run a scouting mission over the North Crater. I assume that he, along with everyone in this room, is excluded from suspicion when it comes to this leak idea of Vincent's."

"That seems like a safe assumption," Cloud said.

"Agreed," Vincent added. "I trust everyone here, and Red XIII, with my life."

"Then that's settled," Reeve said. He also took the last bite of his sandwich, which he washed down with some water. "Now. If all of you will excuse me, I think I'm going to take a nap until I need to check up on the Cait Siths again." He rose from his chair. "Yuffie, could you…?"

"Of course," Yuffie said, taking Reeve's plate. "You go on upstairs, I'll clean up."

"Thank you." The aged ex-Commissioner nodded to Vincent and Cloud and began to feel his way back towards the foyer and the stairs to the second floor. Yuffie took everyone's empty plates, heading back toward the kitchen.

"So," Cloud said after a moment. "What do we do now, Vincent?"

Vincent got to his feet. "I've been thinking about this for a while now, Cloud… not a very long while, but since we met up with Red XIII and he was flying us back. If these Immaculate Swords turn out to be hostile – which I'm sure they will – I want you to be prepared for whatever they might throw at you, which includes regular, non-JENOVA-injected Losts."

"That sounds fine," Cloud agreed.

Vincent nodded. "In that case, Cloud…" He looked at the other man, determination blazing in his ruby eyes.

"Today, we begin your training as an Inquisitor."


	10. Chapter 10

"Cloud," Vincent said, "I'd like you to meet your instructor in the art of the Inquisition."

They were standing outside in the mansion's backyard, which was just as barren and dusty as the rest of Gaea. Cloud glanced over at the back door, which opened from the inside, revealing Yuffie.

"Yuffie is my instructor?" Cloud asked, confused.

"Don't get me wrong," Yuffie said. "The Inquisition started a long time ago, and there were Inquisitors before me. But you should know – I was the first true Inquisitor."

"True Inquisitor meaning the first able to detect the disease with a glance," Vincent explained. "She invented the technique we use to ferret out potential Losts in seconds."

"Wow," Cloud said. "So, how's it work?"

"Nuh-uh," Yuffie said sharply. "You don't get to that part until the very end. First, we put you through the ringer. In order to be an Inquisitor, you have to meet a rigorous physical checklist." She looked him up and down and said, "Okay, you pass!"

Cloud raised an eyebrow. "That didn't feel very rigorous."

"Cloud, you took on Sephiroth and managed to beat him," Yuffie scoffed. "Even if it was a lucky shot or his guard was down, I'd say you still make it. That is, if my learned colleague agrees with me."

She looked pointedly at Vincent, who ran a hand through his hair and nodded, the barest hint of a smile visible on his features.

"Good. Actually, the physical end of things usually takes up most of the Inquisitor training. Dealing with the disease is really simple. If you get bitten on an extremity, cut it off right away. If you get bitten on something you can't cut off, kill yourself, and hopefully find some way to incinerate yourself while you're at it. If you get a Lost's fluid – drool, blood, whatever – on yourself, burn it and all of the exposed skin off. Yes, it'll hurt, but it'll keep you from being infected.

"All of these rules go for everybody else, too. If your friend gets bitten on an extremity, they may get pissed at you when you cut it off, but they'll thank you later, trust me. It's happened to Inquisitors I've worked with in the past. You have to remember: the disease is merciless. You can't be merciful and still hope to fight it. If you detect a potential Lost, it's your duty to kill them as quickly and painlessly as possible and completely incinerate their corpse. Try not to give them any clue what you're about to do – the disease gets deep into their minds and if their danger reflexes start getting triggered it'll make them do some pretty insane shit. If people start wondering what the hell's going on once you've disposed of a target, you'll be equipped with a set of syringes for drawing blood, which is the easiest way to see if somebody's infected. Diseased blood is really dark red. Kids grow up being told this every day, so when those around you are in doubt, stick the syringe in and show them dark red. Make sure to incinerate the syringe afterwards. Got all this?"

"Yes," Cloud replied. He looked a little on edge about the idea of walking up to random strangers and killing them without warning, but everyone started out that way. It would only take having to contain one Lost massacre and he would understand.

"Now, the incineration." Yuffie tossed Cloud a Materia. "This is a mastered Fire materia, standard issue for all Inquisitors. The Protectorate has about fifty of these things for Inquisitors to use. Spares are kept in the safe upstairs, along with any other useful materia we don't necessarily want to use so much as we want to keep anyone else from using it. If you lose yours, we can replace it, but we'd really, really prefer it if you didn't."

Cloud nodded and bound the Fire Materia to himself. Yuffie produced a similar piece of Materia and also bound it to herself.

"All right," she said. "You've probably noticed Vincent using the incineration technique already. It's pretty easy once you've learned it. The reason none of us ever thought of it before was because it's kind of counterintuitive. Rude invented it back in the beginning of this whole thing."

"Rude!" Cloud said, realizing with a shock that he hadn't seen the Turks or Rufus since he'd been woken up, nor had he heard anything about them. "What happened to him and the rest of the Turks? Are they…?"

"They're all alive," Vincent said. "However, we're not in frequent contact with them. They're busy in Wutai."

"Busy? Could they have something to do with –"

"No," Yuffie said. "They wouldn't have anything to do with the Immaculate Swords. They sort of run Wutai now."

"They run Wutai? Why?" Cloud asked.

"I know, it's supposed to be my job, but when my father passed away not too long after the Fall, I had other responsibilities and commitments. I had… other things on my mind." Cloud didn't miss the way Yuffie's eyes flicked over to Vincent as she said this, but she abruptly cleared her throat and said, "Anyway. The incineration technique is kind of counterintuitive because you're not just channeling your energy through the Materia to create one really hot flame. Doing that will only get you so far unless you can pump a huge amount of energy through the Materia in an instant, which is kind of impossible. Instead, you build up a series of flames, all within instants of one another, over the course of maybe thirty seconds – the actual time to incineration heat depends on how much energy you can pour into the Materia. Try it on a patch of ground."

Cloud held out his hand and focused on a speck of dirt about ten feet away from everybody. He channeled spirit energy through the Materia, just like he was used to, and felt the flame beginning to form in his hand, but rather than letting it explode out he added another flame, and another, until the ball of heat hovering above his palm began to glow first blue and then white. He couldn't feel the heat, of course, because it was fire created from his own unique energy, but anybody else certainly would.

"Good," Yuffie said. "You catch on pretty fast. Now throw!"

Cloud clenched his hand into a fist, flame as hot as the sun streaming through his fingers, and threw his arm out toward the speck of dirt he had been focusing on. The flame exploded out from his hand, streaking at the speck, and hit with an explosion of pure energy that was painful to look at.

"Nice," he laughed. "How long did that take to charge up?"

"Thirty-nine seconds," Vincent said. "About average for an Inquisitor, but that's taking experience into account. You're very good starting out – I usually get to incineration in about thirty seconds. I imagine you might even be able to get your charge time a bit below thirty seconds after enough practice."

"Sounds good to me," Cloud said. "What else do I need to know?"

Yuffie exchanged a look with Vincent before she replied, "That's about it. Still, before I teach you the secret that will make you a proper Inquisitor, I want you to practice the incineration technique until you can get the charge time down to thirty-five seconds."

"All right," Cloud acquiesced. "I'll just come and get you guys once I can do it."

"Very good," Vincent said. "Yuffie and I will be in the basement, going over the Data Materia that I retrieved. There are still some things that we need to make sure of concerning Project R."

"See you in a while, then," Cloud said.

* * *

As soon as they were inside, Yuffie asked, "What's wrong, Vincent? You know we've had experts combing the Data Materia ever since you left for Midgar. Everything in there has been dissected and analyzed."

"I know," Vincent said. "Listen, Yuffie. I don't want Cloud to have to learn _kànderén._ "

Yuffie stared at him for a moment and then put her hands on her hips. "Uh-huh. Are you trying to coddle Cloud or something, Vincent? I somehow don't think he'd appreciate the sentiment if he knew."

"Listen," Vincent said emphatically. "You know that aside from the physical regimen, _kànderén_ is the one thing that disqualifies most people from becoming Inquisitors."

"I do," Yuffie said evenly.

"They can't handle the strain of learning it and they pretty much end up broken. We shouldn't take the risk of Cloud, who's suffering from a lot of grief and self-doubt, not being able to deal with the pressure it will put on his mind. If he comes out of it psychotic or worse, it'll be on your hands."

"I know that," Yuffie replied. "But if he's going to stand a chance as a proper Inquisitor surviving in today's world, he needs to know _kànderén_. If we're now dealing with Losts that look entirely human and show no outward signs of the disease, how is Cloud going to know who they are unless he can use the technique?"

"He'll be my partner," Vincent said. "I can use _kànderén_ just fine, I'll cover both of us."

"You don't know that. Stop trying to protect him, Vincent, because he doesn't need it and doesn't deserve the kind of condescension you're showing him."

"At least tell him of the risks involved," Vincent argued.

"You know we can't do that. If somebody who's learning the technique goes into it with even the foggiest idea what's in store for them, it could disrupt the entire acquisition. This is one time when knowing what's going to hit you doesn't make it easier to deal with it – it's the opposite, even. He'll go into it interpreting everything he sees in a different way than if he goes in blind."

Nothing more came to Vincent, so he simply glared at Yuffie, working his jaw.

She stared back without flinching, but slowly allowed a smile to work its way into her eyes. "Look, Vince. I know you're worried about Cloud and I know you want to try to keep him safe, but that's impossible. Either he goes out into a world where these people could walk up and stick a knife in him without any forewarning, or he goes through something that's probably not quite as dangerous to make him immune to that threat."

Vincent's glare fell apart and he sighed. "I know you're right. I just…" He looked down at his boots and shrugged. "I just remember when I learned the technique. It wasn't pleasant. Not in the least."

Yuffie nodded. "I understand. It wasn't fun for me, either. I mean… Mom."

"Mm." Vincent looked outside and saw that Cloud was deep in concentration, practicing the incineration blast. "I wonder who's going to visit him."

"I think you know," Yuffie said, "and you just don't want to admit it because you know how he's going to take it."

"Maybe." Vincent ran one of his talons down his face, a contemplative gesture that never failed to elicit a concerned reaction from anyone who saw it. "Let's just hope he can handle it."

"He'll be able to," Yuffie said. "Let's not forget that he's Cloud, after all."

Vincent snorted. "That's why I'm worried."

* * *

It took Cloud only a couple hours to completely master the incineration technique. During that span of time, Vincent kept trying to come up with some argument as to why they should wait or put Cloud's _kànderén_ training off, but he couldn't think of one that he knew Yuffie would actually accept. Of course, he figured that Yuffie wouldn't accept any argument, no matter how well-reasoned, but he tried anyway.

Still, Cloud finally showed up, bursting to know the secret of the Inquisition, and Yuffie was more than willing, if not precisely happy, to pander to his curiosity.

"Tonight we'll go out back and make a nice fire," Yuffie said. "That's the way this kind of thing is done. By a fire."

"If you insist," Cloud said, looking a little perplexed. "I thought it was simple, though. At least, that's what Vincent said."

"Simple and easy," Vincent explained. "A world of difference."

They waited until the sun set before going into the backyard again. Vincent dug a small fire pit and filled it with combustible materials, of which there were no end in Protectorate headquarters. Yuffie struck a match on the sole of her boot and tossed it in, and they abruptly had a cozy, warm fire to sit around.

"All right, Cloud," Yuffie said. She sat across from him so the fire was between them, while Vincent sat in the relative middle, looking at both of them. "You've probably been dying to know what the whole secret technique is. We call it _kànderén._ "

" _Kànderén,_ " Cloud repeated, tasting the unfamiliar word. "Wutainese?"

"Mmhmm," Yuffie said. " _Kàn_ is 'to see' or 'perceive.' _De_ is just a participle. _Rén_ means 'human,' but another word that sounds the same but is written differently means 'benevolence or humanity.' So, roughly translated, _kànderén_ is 'sight or perception of humanity.'"

"This helps us identify Losts how?" Cloud asked.

"Getting to that," Yuffie said reprovingly. "The technique works exactly like it sounds. You look at somebody and see if they still have their humanity."

"I'm not sure how this helps us see a disease in progress."

Yuffie laughed. "Nobody does at first. Listen. In ancient times, Wutainese warrior-sages defined humanity, or human nature, as obsessively clinging to life no matter the consequences. To willingly accept death was the ultimate noble act, because in doing so you moved beyond humanity and made it your footpath. So, think of 'humanity' as 'the fear of death.' This makes sense in the context of the disease, because as the victims are slowly turned into monsters, they lose their minds and their fear of death."

"But the Lost still have survival instincts. I'd say they still fear death on some level, right?" Cloud asked.

Yuffie nodded. "That's why you have to look at the way we define 'death' too. Humans instinctually seek immortality in some form, whether it's through their descendants, through achieving enlightenment, becoming a renowned master of some sort of art or skill… in short, we accept memetic immortality because we aren't conditioned to believe that the real thing is possible."

"Memetic immortality," Cloud murmured. "I never thought I'd hear you say something so complex, Yuffie."

"You want a shovel to go with that hole you're digging?" Yuffie asked. "Anyway. We seek immortality because we're afraid of not just death, but of an insignificant death, of being forgotten. The worst fear of a human being is to die alone and unloved in a world that doesn't know his name."

She pointed a finger at Cloud. "You might not be afraid of pain and a physical death, Cloud, but you're afraid of losing everything you hold dear because on some selfish level you know that's the only way you'll be remembered. Yes, people you've never met and will never know might remember the name Cloud Strife for a while, but they'll only know your name, not who you were or what you were like. You hate to lose people because you care, it's true, but you also hate to lose people because every time someone you love dies, some version of you dies too."

"I see," Cloud said. He didn't feel particularly convinced, but he was trying to suspend his disbelief in order to give Yuffie the full benefit of the doubt.

"That's human nature, that's humanity," Yuffie continued. "The fear of a forgotten death, the fear of losing everything that's dear to you. You have to let go of that, give up your humanity, in order to be able to see it in other people by contrast with yourself." She lowered her finger and said, " _That,_ Cloud, is _kànderén._ Once you've acquired the technique, you'll never be able to go back to the way things were – and that's a good thing. You'll still feel the pain of every loss, but you'll ultimately be free from them, and if you die a lonely and forgotten death, you'll die content."

"Are you sure," Cloud asked, "that you and Vincent didn't trade personalities for this chat?"

"Very funny," Vincent said in a tone that made it clear it was not.

"All right," Cloud said. "So. How do I do this?"

"You have to let go of your guilt and your anger," Yuffie said. "You have to forgive yourself for not being there when Barret and Cid and especially Tifa died. You have to recognize that bad things are going to happen to you and the people you love, and there's nothing you can do about it except deal with it."

"Easier said than done."

"That's where this comes in." Yuffie pulled a syringe from a pocket in her jumpsuit and removed the cap from the needle. The syringe was filled with a shimmering blue-green liquid in which the light of the fire danced wildly.

"And what's that, exactly?"

"The same Wutainese warrior-sages I mentioned liked to get high on shrooms," Yuffie said, a hint of mischief in her voice. "This is a cocktail of… well. All you really need or want to know is that it'll put you in a trance of sorts." She motioned at the fire. "You'll start to see things in the fire, at first, which is why I insisted we do this with it. Then you'll go… somewhere else. I can't really explain it, but you'll understand when you get there what you have to do."

"I'd like to know what's in that syringe," Cloud murmured, eyeing it dubiously. "Just do me a favor and humor me."

"All the compounds in here have names I can't even pronounce, much less remember. It's basically some hallucinogens and other things that alter your perception, mixed extra-well with a large dose of pure mako taken right from the Lifestream. The knowledge of the Planet and those passed on will appear to you, and… stuff." Yuffie waggled her eyebrows. "Ready?"

"'And… stuff' isn't exactly comforting," Cloud observed, "but I suppose I'm not going to get any readier than I am now." He held out an arm, and Yuffie handed the syringe to Vincent, who expertly located a vein, got the needle in, and injected the cocktail. Cloud sighed apprehensively and asked, "When will it start to kick in?"

"You'll know," Vincent said. "Trust me. You'll know."

"You guys aren't being very supportive," Cloud said, but he suddenly realized that he hadn't actually said it so much as thought it and it had expanded outward from him in a huge, infinite wave of resonant meaning that had doubled back and struck him over the head like a mallet hitting a small and spiky-haired gong the world was turning inside out and the fire suddenly got very, very big and he was going down an endless, endless drain…


	11. Chapter 11

The sun beat down on Cloud as he trudged across the endless desert. He knew he had to get to a certain place for some reason, but he couldn't recall any specifics no matter how he racked his brains. On top of that, there was something strange in the back of his mind, some half-remembered tidbit about a cocktail and a fire that kept bugging him.

"Try to remember. You have to let go of something. You have to forgive yourself for something. It'll be difficult, but you can do it."

"I have to… let go…"

Cloud turned his head toward the voice that had spoken to him. Tifa stood there, looking concerned. "Cloud, are you all right?"

"I don't feel well," Cloud replied. "Not anything you can do about it, though. Thanks for asking." He kept walking, and Tifa followed him, which made him think she was somehow important in this whole endeavor – whatever it was – but he still couldn't quite put a finger on it.

Then he ascended a dune and a small town was lying before him, and he suddenly remembered everything.

He spun around and looked at Tifa, drank in every detail of her. She looked alive, as real now as she had ever been. "This is impossible," Cloud said. "Some kind of hallucination. That cocktail they shot me up with… it must have been so full of drugs…"

"Hallucinogens change the way your mind works for a brief period of time," Tifa said. "Some people think they open your perceptions up to things that once were, are, or are going to be, and let you detect things that are all but gone. Put that together with mako, which – separated from the Lifestream or not – contains the knowledge, experiences, and even souls of the Planet's inhabitants…" She shrugged. "Can you really say I'm just a hallucination? Is there no way that I might have some substance?" She stepped toward Cloud. "Or are you just telling yourself that because you're afraid to hope?"

Cloud felt himself backing away from her, a lump forming in his throat. "Tifa… please. Don't do this. Don't make me lose you again. The drugs are going to wear off, and you'll be gone, and I'm not sure if I can take it a second time."

"Sure you can," Tifa said brightly. "Just go back to my house and break something else in it. I'm sure that'll make you feel better."

"Is that supposed to convince me you're real? I know I did that, so you could have just pulled that out of my head to mess with me."

"But how does it help me if I make you think I'm real when I'm not? I'm just trying to convince you of what's true, Cloud." Tifa took an especially long stride forward, reached out, and took Cloud by the arm. He froze at the familiarity of her touch, the calluses on her palms brushing against the skin of his arm. "Please don't waste this opportunity. I'm not sure how long you'll be here, and I want to take this one last chance we've been given and use it to talk." She drew close to him and ran a hand down his cheek.

"Okay," Cloud whispered. "Let's say you're real. I'd like nothing more than to believe that, but I'm afraid to. Tell me something I don't know that only you would."

"That's simple," Tifa said. She brought her mouth next to his ear and whispered something there, something that for some reason he didn't hear so much as register and file away for later. He put the strange effect down to the drugs, but that thought left his mind too when she lightly brushed her lips across his cheek. "Does that answer your question?"

"I'm not sure," Cloud said. "All I know is that once this ends – once the drugs run their course – I'll know for sure, one way or the other." He looked at her and said, "But for right now, I'll go along with you being real. Or even if you are, you're going to help me somehow, and that's good if not just as good."

"Fair enough," Tifa said.

"So. What do we do now?"

"We go down there," Tifa replied, pointing at the small town below them. "This is where your guilt springs from. This is where you'll have to go in order to root it out."

Cloud looked at the town and swallowed, dread rising up in him despite the fact that he didn't know where it was or why he was feeling this way. All he knew was that things had resolved themselves in his mind once he'd seen it. "All right," he said.

Acquiescing seemed to be enough, because as soon as the words left his mouth the two of them were there. The streets were full of people, ordinary people going about their lives, perhaps not blissfully or even happily, but going about them nonetheless. Cloud looked around, taking in the sights – the buildings were all short, squat, and made of simple concrete; the streets were dirt and sand, and there was a large water tower in the center of town that he assumed supplied the populace with the water they needed to survive.

"It was such a nice little town," Tifa said.

"Was?" Cloud asked. "What happened to it?"

Tifa pointed at the horizon. "That."

A group of vehicles was suddenly visible in the far distance, speeding toward the town, kicking up a huge cloud of dust behind them. Squinting, Cloud could barely make out that they didn't have any kind of insignia or crest, and they moved in a loose, uneven formation that suggested disorganization.

"Raiders," Cloud said. "Must be." His hand automatically went to his back where the First Tsurugi should have been, but he wasn't wearing it. "What are we going to do?"

"You can't do anything," Tifa replied. "You're on another continent, sleeping in a pod. I'm the only one who can defend the town."

A chill ran down Cloud's spine and his blood turned to ice. "This is where you died."

Tifa nodded. "Yes. This is where it happened. I managed to fight off the raiders and force them into a retreat before I bled out. Nobody here could do anything for me, and I dropped dead right in the street." She looked at a distant dune and pointed at it. "They buried me out there. There isn't a proper graveyard here, so they normally cremate their dead, but they felt they had to give me a proper burial. They really couldn't repay me any other way."

Even as she was speaking, a different Tifa emerged from one of the buildings in the town. She was older, with weathered skin and wrinkles beginning to form around her eyes. She looked out at the horizon, reached into the ragged cloak she was wearing over her traveler's outfit, and pulled out her pair of black leather gloves.

"Is this how it's going to go down?" Cloud asked. "I have to just stand here and watch you fight them and then die?"

"Of course not," Tifa replied. "Not unless you want to. This is your dream, after all."

Cloud looked down at his feet, anger and humiliation welling up inside of him. "You know that doesn't matter."

Tifa nodded. "Of course. You did tell me once that you never have dreams you can control."

"So how does it being my dream matter at all, then?" Cloud demanded, looking back up at her. "I can't change the way things happened. I can't step in and fight the raiders and help you survive. I'm completely powerless, but you've brought me here and you're standing there like you're expecting me to do something!"

"You just did it," Tifa said.

The town was suddenly gone, and they were standing in Tifa's house, in her bedroom. Cloud looked around, confused. "What… oh."

"Exactly," Tifa said, moving to sit at the piano bench. "'I can't change the way things happened.' 'I'm completely powerless.' You just admitted these things yourself. I didn't take you back to that town you never knew. You did that. Why do you insist on blaming yourself if it wasn't your fault and you wouldn't have been able to help?"

"Because I'm the only one I _can_ blame," Cloud replied. "What, am I supposed to take it out on Vincent and Yuffie? It's not like they stood by and let you die."

"And neither did you. Don't punish yourself for the same thing you wouldn't blame on your friends."

Cloud sat down on the piano bench with her and put his face in his hands. "I just don't understand," he said. "How am I supposed to forgive myself and let go of everything I care about? I care about you because I can't let you go. What Yuffie said made sense, but I can't do it!"

"What Yuffie said goes for mankind in general," Tifa said. "But it's not the truth for you; it's not your personal truth. You're not afraid of dying a lonely and forgotten death, Cloud, and you don't really want or need to die and be remembered as an important person or a master of something.

"What you're afraid of is simple. You think you won't be able to make amends for whatever mistakes you've made – or even haven't made. You're afraid that you're going to die, and you won't have been forgiven. You've been seeking forgiveness your entire life. When my mother died and we went up Mount Nibel, the adults blamed you when I got hurt. Even though it wasn't your fault, you took it to heart, and when you left you promised to come and save me when I was in trouble as a way of making up for what you felt you'd done. When Zack died, you took up his life and personality because you felt guilty about his death. After Aerith died, you wanted forgiveness even though that wasn't your fault either. Now that I'm dead, you're seeking forgiveness for that even though there was nothing you could have done about it.

"Cloud, you don't have to let go of everything that's important to you because you know you're going to lose it eventually. You can hold onto the important things and the important people, and know that someday it'll be gone, but you have to recognize that it _won't be your fault when it happens._ "

"That's easy enough to say," Cloud said. "But what am I supposed to do when there's so much wrong with the world and I could have changed some of it or prevented it from happening if I had just been in the right place, if I had just done something differently? I'll always feel guilty as long as there's the slightest thing that I could have done differently."

"You're always seeking redemption for things that aren't your failing because you care too much and too deeply," Tifa said. "You have to let go of that. You have to realize that bad things happen to good people and there's nothing you can do about it. It will hurt, but you will move on and do more good because you're not stuck in an endless, vicious cycle of penitence." Tifa wrapped an arm around him. "I never blamed you, Cloud. I missed you every day, and I thought about you all the time, but I never once blamed you for not being there. Nobody ever did. What are you really blaming yourself for?"

Cloud moved his hands away from his face and looked at Tifa. The moonlight streamed in through the window and illuminated her in soft white, making her seem ethereal despite her warmth and the weight of her arm around his shoulders. "I…"

He swallowed and everything came bursting out of him, the floodgates opening and unleashing a river. "Every time I hurt you, whether I meant to – though I can't remember wanting to – or not. All the times I was picky, or stupid, or unreasonable. All the times I made you wait, or I pushed you away when you were only trying to help – like now, even. The fact that the last thing I said to you was about coffee, and I was so worried about being late I didn't even take the two seconds to tell you that I – that I luh…" Cloud felt his throat close and the tears begin to stream out of his eyes. This time he didn't try to keep control of himself as he had in front of Vincent.

Tifa took him in her arms and held him with infinite patience as his body was wracked with great, heaving sobs. He buried his face in her chest and clung to her as she stroked his hair and said everything there was to say without actually speaking.

"It's okay," Tifa finally said after he had exhausted himself. "I forgive you." She cupped his head in her hands and brought his gaze up to meet hers, wiping the tears off of his face as she did so. "And I knew that you loved me. I always knew."

She pulled his face to hers and kissed him, slowly and tenderly, and Cloud lost himself in the feel of her lips. When he opened his eyes again, he was sitting in front of a fire, and the tears that she had wiped away were still on his cheeks.

* * *

Vincent closed the door to his room behind him after having returned from a midnight trip to the kitchen for a glass of water. His darkvision picked up that Cloud was sitting up on his cot, looking at him, and he raised an eyebrow. "You shouldn't be up, Cloud. The procedure doesn't seem to have caused any damage to your body, but you still need to be resting to regain your strength. It… it takes a lot out of you."

"I know," Cloud said. His voice sounded calm – truly calm, not flat and emotionless like it had been ever since Vincent had woken him from the pod. "It was a purifying experience. I can see why not everyone goes through it, though."

"Mm. Many people don't want to face the worst parts of their own natures, even if doing so means that they might be able to better themselves." Vincent took a sip of water and sat down on his bed. "At any rate, you should be able to use _kànderén_ now. We don't exactly keep Lost around to let you test it on, but…"

"No," Cloud said. "I can tell I learned it." He looked Vincent in the eye, even in the darkness of the room, and went on, "It goes both ways. I can tell who still has their humanity, which means I can probably tell when it's being replaced with Lost madness.

"But I can also tell when somebody else also has the technique, when they've gone through what I have and faced the worst parts of themselves. I can tell you've done it."

"I see." Vincent took another sip of water. "That makes sense, of course. In being able to use _kànderén,_ we are in some ways as strange as the Lost themselves."

"Mm." Cloud rubbed at his temples for a moment and then said, "Vincent, tell me something."

"Yes?"

"Do you remember the piece of music you heard me playing the other night, when you found me in Tifa's house?"

Vincent thought about it for a moment. "Yes."

"I heard it in a dream. Tifa was playing it. That used to be one of her favorite songs, but I didn't know the name of it. I always just thought it was familiar because she would sometimes play it for hours. Do you know what it's called? Just say yes or no."

It took a moment, but Vincent remembered the name of the piece. "Yes."

Cloud got up from his cot and handed Vincent a piece of paper folded in half. "Here. Look at this and tell me if I got it right."

Vincent unfolded the paper and squinted at it. He stared at the writing there for a while until his darkvision kicked in. He looked at the scrawl on the paper for a long moment, thinking about what it meant.

"It's right," he finally said. He handed the paper back to Cloud. "I take it that's the answer to an important question."

"Yes," Cloud replied. He moved back to his cot, lay down on it, and closed his eyes, still holding the paper between his fingers. "Yes, it is."

* * *

Cloud was still asleep when the door to Vincent's room burst open. Yuffie stood in the doorway. "Outbreak!"

Both he and Vincent were instantly awake and sitting up. "Damn," Vincent sighed. "Where?"

"New Corel," Yuffie replied. "The town's apparently trying to seal off an entire block because it's full of Losts – dozens of them. It's the biggest outbreak since the Fall."

Vincent looked over at Cloud, who was already getting out of bed and pulling his shirt on. "How do we get there?" he asked.

"You'll have to take an attack transport," Yuffie replied. "Red's still doing a flyby of the North Crater, so it's up to you two. Vincent's qualified on a transport – he can pilot."

"All right," Vincent said, swirling his cloak around him and checking Cerberus before holstering it. "You said dozens of Losts, though? I'm going to need a bigger gun."

Cloud raised an eyebrow as he slung the First Tsurugi's harness across his back and put the sword into it. "A bigger gun than Cerberus. Does the Protectorate keep RPGs lying around?"

Vincent gave him a small smile. "You'll see."

"The flight crews are already prepping your ride," Yuffie said. "Good thing the town got word out so fast."

"How'd the message come?"

"By radio." Yuffie looked at Cloud and explained, "Radio doesn't usually work very well over distances of more than a couple miles because there's a lot of EM interference since the Fall – we don't know why. I guess this was just their lucky day."

"Let's make sure it stays that way," Cloud said, getting his boots on. "I'm ready. Vincent?"

"I'll meet you at the hangar," Vincent said. He brushed by Yuffie. "I have to go and get my other gun."


	12. Chapter 12

There was a crowd of people waiting when Vincent set the attack transport down in New Corel. He had explained to Cloud on the way that New Corel was an especially large and prosperous city because it used as its energy source the coal that its inhabitants' ancestors had been digging for generations. As a result, the air above the city was thick and grey, and many of the buildings were coated in a thick layer of black dust, a dark spot on the sandy plain of the continent. Therefore, it was often called the 'Black City.'

Vincent popped the cockpit, and Cloud jumped down to the ground while his friend began securing and powering down the attack transport. "What's the situation here?" he asked.

A uniformed officer stepped forward and saluted. He seemed to be in his late twenties, with a keen look about him. "I take it you're Inquisitors from the Protectorate."

"Yes," Cloud replied. "This is Inquisitor Vincent Valentine, and I'm…" He paused for just a moment, working his mind around the new and unfamiliar title. "Inquisitor Cloud Strife."

"You got our message, then. Great." The policeman looked at Cloud more closely and asked, "Have I seen you before? You're familiar, somehow."

"You might have seen his picture somewhere before," Vincent said, also dropping to the ground. "He's been around. At any rate, officer, tell us what's going on."

"Sir!" The officer held his salute for a second longer and then relaxed. "We've got a major outbreak throughout an entire block. We've managed to seal off the area by restricting all access to the sections of Fifth and Sixth Streets and Wallace and Everett Avenues that touch it. It's in the center of a residential district, so we suspect that there are at least thirty Losts, if not more."

"Have your men hold their positions," Vincent said. "We'll handle this." The officer noticed the large duffel bag that Vincent carried slung across his back, and he nodded, pulled out a walkie-talkie, and began barking orders into it. "Let's go," Vincent said to Cloud.

They headed in the direction the officer indicated, moving as quickly as possible through the crowds of confused and scared people. Vincent took the opportunity to do a scan for potential Losts, but he didn't notice any. He looked over at Cloud and saw that the blonde was doing the same.

"Pick up any potentials?" he asked, just to make sure.

"No," Cloud replied. "Everyone here is fine, as far as I can tell."

The crowds got thicker as they drew closer. People were crowding at the barriers blocking off the streets in question, and the policemen manning the barricades looked nervous but resolute. Vincent scanned the policemen too, relieved when he saw none were infected.

"How long does it take before we can tell with _kànderén_ if someone's infected?" Cloud asked.

"From the time of initial infection to the target beginning to lose its humanity is about an hour," Vincent said. "The block's been sealed off for about four. The fact that we're not seeing any potential Losts is a sign that the police moved swiftly and decisively, which is good." They stopped at the barriers. "I'm Inquisitor Vincent Valentine and this is my partner, Inquisitor Cloud Strife. We're here to contain the outbreak."

"Our message got through, eh?" the head policeman asked. "Thank heaven. Let them pass, boys."

"Losts function pretty much like any other monster you've ever fought," Vincent said to Cloud once they were past the police barrier and inside the infected block. "Cut its head off for a quick resolution. Failing that, cut it to enough ribbons and it'll stop moving. It doesn't really register blood loss in the way we do – it keeps going until it falls over dead, so don't think about crippling it. If you kill one and you're safe for the moment, take thirty seconds to charge up an incineration technique and blast it. If there are more than one, kill all of them, and then burn each of them individually. Never, ever touch a Lost if you can help it. It's just safer that way."

"Got it." Cloud pulled the First Tsurugi from its harness and held it ready. "What about you? Are you…"

"I'm immune, insofar as I have been able to determine," Vincent replied. "After all, the disease works on the human genome, and I don't really have that any longer. Still, I try to be careful." He pulled the duffel bag off of his back and unzipped it. "Go around the perimeter of the block, see if there are any Losts outside that you can take care of. They're probably going to be staying indoors because they hate the sun, but you never know."

"Roger." Cloud began a sweep of the block, walking down the road and looking at the buildings lining it. It was indeed a residential area, with some ten houses all facing out toward the streets. The buildings were constructed around a large, open area; each house had fenced off a piece for a backyard. The houses themselves were unremarkable, one- or two-story constructions of concrete or metal. Looking in through the windows, Cloud could see shadows of movement inside, but he couldn't pinpoint anything that looked like a Lost.

He rounded his third turn and saw Vincent at the far end of the street, back where he had started. Cloud began to walk back toward him, but the hairs on the back of his neck suddenly rose and he whirled to his right when he saw movement in his peripheral vision.

Something that Cloud could only assume was a Lost had clambered up onto the fence bordering one of the corner house's backyards and was staring at him with enormous, soulless eyes. Its body was twisted and mutated and it was bent sharply at the waist so it stood perched on its feet and hands, both of which had grown long black talons. Its large, unhinged jaw had rows of sharp teeth and an enormous tongue that lolled out of the side, dripping black spittle.

Moving incredibly fast for something that seemed so bent and ungainly, the Lost leaped off of the fence, landed ten feet away from Cloud, and rushed at him with a scream that made him want to drop his sword and cover his ears. He forced the pain out of his mind and twisted out of the way of its initial charge, its talons missing him by bare inches. It skidded to a halt and began to shuffle itself around to face him again, but Cloud sidestepped deftly through its guard and brought the First Tsurugi down in a clean blow that severed its head from its shoulders. The Lost collapsed, twitching but clearly dead.

Cloud took a brief look around, made sure there weren't any others that he could see, and took a deep breath to calm himself. The creature was probably the most horrifying thing he had ever seen, even in broad daylight. He didn't want to imagine fighting one or more of these at night.

After he had steadied his nerves, he pointed a finger at the Lost and began to charge up an incinerating blast. The flames grew around his arm, swirling faster and hotter, until Cloud heard another ear-piercing scream right behind him. He whirled, the incineration blast only half-done, and saw another Lost charging him far too fast for him to avoid, ready to take a chunk out of one of his legs.

There was a sound of thunder, and the Lost's head was suddenly gone, replaced with a burst of flame. The body tripped, hit the ground, and skidded to a halt next to the Lost that Cloud had killed. The head was nowhere to be seen until Cloud noticed a smoking hole in the street some dozen feet away. He finished charging the incinerating blast, managed to get both Losts' corpses in it, and moved over to the hole.

Specks of dark red covered the ground all around it, and Cloud knew better than to try to touch or even get near it. He looked toward Vincent and it suddenly became very clear what had made the hole.

The man was carrying an enormous rifle. The gun, if Vincent put its stock against the ground next to him and held the barrel up, would have been longer than his legs. It had a large rubber and metal stock that was as long as his forearm and an impressive barrel that made up the rest of the gun's length. As Vincent walked up to Cloud, he ejected the spent round from the rifle's chamber, pulled the clip out, stuck a new bullet in, and replaced the clip in the gun before pulling the action back again.

"What the hell is that?" Cloud asked.

"A bolt-action Shin-Ra Peacekeeper that fires fifty-caliber rounds," Vincent replied. "It usually comes with a scope, because it was originally a sniper rifle. It can kill at a mile and a half; the Lost I shot off of you was probably about a hundred feet away. Needless to say, I keep it around because it's overkill in a can."

"I noticed. Do I need to incinerate what's left of the Lost's head?"

"You might have had to if I wasn't using incendiary rounds. How's the rest of the block look?"

"Well, I _thought_ that all of the Losts were indoors," Cloud replied. "Seems I was wrong."

Vincent gave him a thin smile. "Don't worry too much about it. Let's –"

He broke off when there was suddenly a massive explosion from what sounded like far off. Both of them snapped their heads around in the direction of the sound and saw a large plume of black smoke beginning to rise from a large, elevated outcropping of rock just outside of the town.

"That would be the coal mine, or at least one of them," Vincent said.

"You think there's been an outbreak there, too?"

"Unlikely, but we can't be too careful. Go and get some information from the police at one of the barricades. They'll know if it was an accident or a work-related mishap; if they have no idea what's going on, it's probably got something to do with our unwelcome guests. If that's true, you head there and take care of it yourself." Vincent hefted the Shin-Ra Peacekeeper meaningfully. "In broad daylight, armed with this and two hundred shots, if I can't handle thirty or so Losts I'm getting soft."

"Understood," Cloud said. "Still, be careful."

"Who just got his life saved?" Vincent asked. "I should be telling you that. Now go."

Cloud hustled back to the barricade through which they'd entered and asked the man in charge, "What's the situation over at that coal mine?"

The policeman, who was holding a walkie-talkie to his ear, held up a hand signaling for Cloud to wait a moment. After a few seconds he lowered the device and answered, "We're getting reports of some kind of incident over there. It's definitely not work-related, and it's definitely not an accident. We're thinking there might be a second outbreak." He looked almost like he was going to be physically ill.

"Keep the populace away from the mine, but don't send anyone in yourself," Cloud instructed the man. "I should be able to handle it on my own."

"If you're sure, then we're not going to argue. I'll relay your orders."

"Thanks. Anybody got a ride?"

One of the policemen tossed him a set of keys. "The silver ones are to my bike," the man said, pointing at a sleek, obviously custom-made motorcycle sitting on the side of the road. "Take good care of her, will you?"

Cloud looked at the bike and felt a sense of nostalgia wash over him. He wondered what might have happened to Fenrir.

"I will," he said before he leaped the barrier, moved to the bike, swung himself onto it, and started her up. The engine roared, and he took off at top speed in the direction of the mine.

* * *

Vincent saw a hint of movement through one of the windows of the house to his left and snapped the Peacekeeper around to sight in on it. He could just barely see a Lost far back from the window, staring out through the glass at him.

It started to dodge out of the way, but Vincent pulled the trigger, and the Peacekeeper bucked in his arms, sending a round roughly the size of a pen rocketing straight through the glass and into the Lost's skull, where it exploded into a fiery blaze.

That was the fifth one he'd killed in as many minutes, and that was just by circling the block over and over again, waiting for them to get stupid enough to pop their heads out. Eventually he would have to go in there, hunt down any that remained, and inspect the houses to see if they needed to be burned down to avoid further infection. However, this seemed to be working fine for the time being. He didn't stand to gain anything by taking unnecessary risks.

Then he heard the sounds coming from behind the houses.

They were gruesome sounds – ripping, shrieking, spattering sounds that made even Vincent stop and shudder. There couldn't be anyone left alive for the Losts to kill, not after four hours – and they would be trying to infect anyone they ran into, not kill them. He had to know what was going on.

Vincent gathered himself, took three quick steps and then leaped, managing to get most of the way onto one of the roofs. He pulled himself completely up, repeated the process of replacing the spent round in the clip with a new one – he never knew when he might need all five shots – and then slowly climbed up until he could see the backyards.

He sincerely regretted it the moment he saw what was going on. Some twenty Losts were all gathered in the largest backyard, and they were murdering one another. They were slashing, biting, wrestling, doing everything in their power to slaughter each other. Two of them had already fallen over dead, and more of them were about to give up the ghost. It was an extremely unpleasant sight, but it looked as though they were going to just finish the hard part of his job for him.

Vincent stayed low and watched them until only one was left standing. It was covered in wounds and it was bleeding from most of them, but it howled triumphantly and stomped once or twice on a nearby corpse. He couldn't fathom what was making them do this, considering that Losts generally tended to work together, but it didn't really matter. He sighted in on the survivor's head with the Peacekeeper and began to pull the trigger.

Then a Lost that hadn't been taking part in what he was privately referring to as the bloodsport leaped up on the roof and screamed at him. He rolled away, surprised, swinging the Peacekeeper around to bear on the Lost, and fired. The bullet ripped through its chest and exploded halfway out its back, sending bits and pieces of the creature flying everywhere, much to Vincent's disgust and anger. He managed to avoid most of them, but one wet chunk landed on his cloak and he had to burn yet another hole in it to get the fluids out.

With a growl, he swung the rifle back around to aim at the Lost in the backyard, but he stopped dead in complete horror when he saw what the thing was doing.

It was eating the other Losts.

It was tearing the flesh off of their bones with reckless abandon and lapping up their blood, and it was doing so with astonishing alacrity. In the time it had taken Vincent to shoot the Lost on the roof with him, burn a hole in his cloak, and reacquire the one in the backyard, it had eaten, bones and all, two of its fellows already.

Vincent clamped a hand over his mouth and struggled to keep from vomiting. He had seen some awful things, but this was the worst in a very, very long time. The wet smacking and crunching noises filtering up from the yard were even worse than the sight of the Lost eating, and he fought the bile surging up in his throat. He managed to gather the presence of mind to take careful aim at the Lost's head and fire. It exploded in a burst of flame and the creature dropped dead. Vincent promptly rolled down the roof, leaped down to the ground, and proceeded to throw up water and bile because he hadn't actually eaten anything today.

After a good minute's worth of wretching and trying to keep from getting any of it on his cloak, Vincent wiped at his mouth, took up the Peacekeeper again, and clambered up the eight-foot fence into the adjacent backyard. He walked up to the fence separating him from a mountain of corpses, took a deep breath, and quickly scaled it.

When he was halfway over and ready to jump down into the backyard, he froze as he realized that the Lost he'd shot straight through the head had grown another one.

In fact, it had grown three more of them. All of them were busily eating the corpses of its fellows.

Its torso had bloated until it was several times larger than Vincent's, and where its arms and legs used to be, it had grown large protrusions of bone that served as both claws and legs.

"So that's where you come from," Vincent growled. The Lost he'd fought in Deepground rose to the forefront of his mind; there was no doubt this was how they came to be.

The huge Lost twitched one of its heads around and hissed at Vincent. It grew three more heads before his eyes, all of them focusing on him and making sick, bestial sounds. Without even orienting itself toward him, it charged, claw-legs ripping into the ground and kicking up dust.

"This," Vincent said, leveling the Peacemaker at the monster, "is going to go differently than last time."


	13. Chapter 13

Cloud brought the motorcycle to a halt a few dozen feet from the mine's entrance. The source of the explosion had been the mine itself – someone had set a bunch of charges in the front and detonated them, collapsing the tunnel and filling it with debris.

That somebody was the reason Cloud had stopped the bike. A man was standing outside the entrance, and Cloud didn't need _kànderén_ to know he was one of the Immaculate Swords.

He stood looking straight at Cloud, arms crossed. He had black hair that fell to his collar, tanned skin, blue eyes, and defined, strong features. He wore a form-fitting black special operations jumpsuit, just as Renbato had. Over the jumpsuit was a black leather trenchcoat, buttoned down to the waist and held closed with a belt.

Shoved into that belt were six sheathed longswords, three on each side. They were clustered together into groups, almost like missiles in a launcher, and Cloud wondered how the man could possibly fight with all of them. The swords had black lacquered sheaths and their handles were wrapped in black cloth.

"Not an outfit that'll help keep you cool," Cloud observed, getting off of the bike and pulling the First Tsurugi from his back. He detached one of the shortswords, holding it in his off-hand as he casually began to circle the stranger.

"I could say the same to you," the man replied, looking at Cloud's distinctive black clothing. His voice was mild, and he spoke with a clipped accent. "You will forgive my presumption, but you are Cloud Strife."

"Why'd you blow up the mine?" Cloud asked.

"We knew the outbreak would eventually attract either you, Vincent Valentine, or both of you. When I saw the two of you had arrived to contain it, I put the plan to lure at least one of you here into action."

"You've trapped innocent men in there."

"They will all die someday anyway. Who is to say that now is not their time?"

"Who're you to say when their time is?"

The man uncrossed his arms, lowering each of his hands onto the hilt of a longsword. "You and Vincent Valentine killed Renbato. By your logic, who were _you_ to say that it was his day to die?"

"He attacked us. We wouldn't have killed him if he hadn't been a threat."

"Indeed?" The man's lips twitched. "Renbato, a threat? Hmph!" He drew a longsword in each hand and flipped them around so he was holding them in the forward grip. "I will show you what a threat is, Cloud Strife."

"We don't have to fight," Cloud said. "We can walk away from this."

"You say you would not have killed Renbato if he had not posed a threat. Right now, you and your partner pose a direct threat to the Immaculate Swords' ultimate goal, and we intend to see it carried out no matter what the cost." He leveled the longsword in his right hand at Cloud. "My name is Barachiel, and I will be your executioner."

Cloud catalogued the name for later and relaxed naturally into a combat stance, the First Tsurugi in a ready position, the shortsword in his off-hand held slightly lower to act as a guard or to bring around for a surprise strike.

Barachiel didn't charge or beckon for Cloud to attack. He simply stood there, gauging his opponent, his longswords held ready. Cloud narrowed his eyes and took a step forward, and Barachiel took a step back. He began to circle Barachiel, who in turn moved in the opposite direction, never breaking eye contact.

Finally, Cloud decided he'd had enough of the game. He exploded with a blast of spirit energy channeled into the blade of the First Tsurugi, which he then slammed down in a Blade Beam. The bright blue wave of energy erupted out at Barachiel, who didn't seem like he was trying to dodge at all.

The four remaining longswords suddenly slashed out of their sheaths and intercepted the Blade Beam in a simultaneous strike. Barachiel's attack disrupted the shape of the wave, making it explode a bare three feet from its target. Cloud stared, taken aback, as the longswords moved back into place, two on each side of Barachiel. He realized that thick tendrils of reddish-black liquid extended out of Barachiel's torso, straight through his jumpsuit, to wrap around each longsword's hilt. He made a note to mention to Vincent that the jumpsuits seemed to allow the free passage of whatever the liquid was in both Renbato's and Barachiel's cases.

"I see," Barachiel said. "You gather up spirit energy and charge your sword with agitated mako particles, which you then form into a cohesive wave using a strike. Intriguing." He began to ripple with the familiar bluish-green glow of mako. A horrible premonition hit Cloud a second before his enemy said, "My turn."

The blades of all six of his longswords shone with energy as he lashed out with them. Six Blade Beams rocketed at Cloud from different angles. He retorted with another one of his own, which sliced out and blew apart the four in the center, giving him an opening through which he charged to avoid the other two. With remarkable quickness, Barachiel began fading back from Cloud's charge, firing off individual Blade Beams with all of his longswords. As he pumped energy through it, the liquid extending from his torso twisted and shimmered.

With a burst of speed, Cloud caught up and swung the First Tsurugi in a powerful horizontal chop at Barachiel's head. Simultaneously, he stabbed out with the shortsword at his foe's gut. Barachiel ducked underneath the horizontal sweep, blocked the thrust with the longswords he wielded in his hands, and cut at Cloud with his four other swords. Just before the strikes landed, Cloud pushed himself backward. The attacks sang through the air inches from where he had been standing.

The longswords being manipulated by the strange liquid came to a sudden halt in midair, creating the four corners of a square in front of Barachiel's torso, blades pointing diagonally inward toward what would be the square's center. The swords made a kind of elongated cannon. "Now what if I apply your technique to this formation?" Barachiel wondered.

Energy raced up and down the blades of the longswords and exploded out of their square configuration, not as a beam but instead as a projectile. Cloud brought up the First Tsurugi to block the shot, but it exploded into a gout of blue flame and sent him stumbling. Exploiting the opening with ease, Barachiel fired off a pair of Blade Beams with the longswords to his right, and the Beams ripped through the ground toward Cloud. He stabbed out with the longswords to his left, the liquid elongating to almost six feet, and kept the longswords in his hands close to his body.

Cloud leaped into the air to avoid the Blade Beams, forcing himself into a twirling spiral as he did so. He battered away the two thrusting longswords with the First Tsurugi and hurled the shortsword with pinpoint accuracy at the tendrils of liquid that held the two longswords on the right. It sheared through them without difficulty. However, the liquid regrew itself and reached out to snatch the fallen longswords back up before Cloud could take decisive action.

He decided on a different tactic as he landed, driving Barachiel back with another heavy swipe of the First Tsurugi. A tumbling roll brought him up on the other side of the man. In order to give himself breathing room, he lashed out backwards with the First Tsurugi, which enabled him to grab his shortsword from where it had fallen. A sudden, biting pain erupted in his back as Barachiel managed to score him with the two longswords on his right, but Cloud whirled around, gathering spirit energy into a massive, razor-edged tornado that he hurled at his enemy with a slash.

Barachiel sent the four liquid-manipulated longswords into furious motion, spinning in the opposite direction of Cloud's Finishing Touch, and then sent four miniature versions of the technique roaring toward Cloud's much larger one. The storms of wind collided and reduced one another to nothing. For a moment, Cloud stared in dismay; then he recovered the presence of mind to throw himself out of the way of another pair of Blade Beams.

"Don't you grasp it by now, Cloud Strife?" Barachiel asked. "Any technique that I see, I can duplicate and counter instantly. This is a skill I have honed for years, something you cannot dream of. In addition, I can use these techniques from six directions at once. It used to be four, but…" His eyes glittered in an extremely unsettling manner. "Omnislash."

Cloud took a moment to catch his breath. "What about it? It's just me swinging my sword really fast."

"Not that Omnislash," Barachiel said. "That is a paltry shadow of the true technique. I speak of the one you used to kill Sephiroth, forty-eight years ago." He looked at the First Tsurugi. "The one that requires you to have your First Tsurugi completely assembled, the one that requires all six pieces of the true blade." He gave Cloud an insane grin. "All _six._ "

"Sorry to disappoint you," Cloud said, "but I've only ever been able to do it once. You'll just have to come back again another day."

"You performed the technique when you were pushed to the absolute brink," Barachiel continued. "I intend to get you back there, Cloud Strife, to the edge of the valley of death, and see what you do when you are confronted with that abyss."

He fired off more Blade Beams at Cloud, charging in their wake. Cloud leaped over them, landed, and charged as well, spirit energy percolating around and through him. Barachiel lanced out with his longswords, managing to score several hits that drew blood from Cloud's chest and shoulders. However, Cloud plunged the First Tsurugi into the man's abdomen, gathered his spirit energy into his legs, and then leaped twenty feet into the air, tearing the blade up through Barachiel's chest and shoulder in a Climhazzard. As dark red blood spewed everywhere in his wake, Cloud managed to avoid being splattered. He landed in a crouch some five feet away, got to his feet, and turned around.

The massive wound he had inflicted was gone. The last bit of it was filling up with the same liquid Barachiel used to manipulate his swords, which solidified and reformed into flesh beneath the torn jumpsuit.

"An interesting technique," Barachiel said. "The damage it can cause is quite extraordinary."

His legs burned bright blue with spirit energy. Crossing the distance between himself and Cloud in a flash, too fast for Cloud to bring up the First Tsurugi to block his attacks, he stabbed the shortswords he was holding in his hands into Cloud's legs, one in each. The other four swords glowed bright blue as well. The energy in Barachiel's legs exploded outward and he propelled himself high into the air, his swords ripping up and through Cloud's legs in twin Climhazzards. Cloud bit back a scream as he felt blood gushing out of the wounds. He got the First Tsurugi up, only to realize that Barachiel wasn't done. In midair, the four liquid-held longswords arranged themselves in the square cannon formation, pointing straight down. Out of the cannon erupted another projectile-based Blade Beam.

The Blade Beam hit Cloud right over the head, exploding and throwing him to the ground. He lost his grip on both his swords. The tang of blood was heavy in his mouth; the world swam, his vision blurring.

Barachiel landed a short distance away and stretched. "Get up, Cloud Strife. Show me Omnislash before you die. I want to add it to my collection."

"What collection?" Cloud gasped, grabbing the First Tsurugi and his shortsword and stumbling back to his feet despite the immense pain in his legs and head. "All I've seen you do is throw my own techniques back at me."

"But that is the point," Barachiel said, turning around to face Cloud. "When a warrior fights me, he uses every trick he has, every ace in the hole he possesses, and they all become mine. Then, when I kill him with those same abilities, I am the only one left who knows those tricks and holds those cards, and I keep them to myself so nobody else can ever know them again. I am a collector, Cloud Strife – the same as a man who collects novelty items that serve no practical value. I keep my foes' techniques – and continue to win fight after fight without needing to use them. That is the final insult to their memories: I do not even need the moves I glean from them to win against other fighters. After all… I _am_ destroying you, using nothing but your own moves."

"You're using my moves with the ability to wield six weapons at once. It doesn't seem fair."

"I never said it was fair," Barachiel pointed out with a leer.

"What is that liquid, anyway?"

"I'm sure Renbato's death gave you all the answers you wanted about our natures. The liquid is what results when JENOVA cells are mixed with the disease that has been ravaging this planet for forty-five years. It is a substance that makes up our bodies and transcends the normal states of matter. We can use it to execute a variety of special techniques. Renbato used his to duplicate himself up to five times, as your partner may have told you." Barachiel shook his head. "That technique left him far too vulnerable. I find it much easier and safer to use only the necessary amount of liquid, and to use weapons that do not depend upon my life-force to kill." He shrugged. "But this carrying on is useless. You are, after all, about to die. Show me Omnislash before you do and I will make it quick."

Cloud grinned. "Well. If you really insist, fine." He reattached the shortsword to the main blade of the First Tsurugi, holding the complete sword in a two-handed grip. "Die."

The sword glowed a vivid blue. The blades unfolded and detached themselves of their own accord, rising up into an elevated circle around Barachiel, the blade with the handle in its hollow base rising higher above the rest. Cloud rocketed forward, moving so fast that he left afterimages of himself in the air, and took Barachiel from underneath the chin with a solid uppercut that launched him into the sky. He leaped up after the man and cut him across the chest with the main blade of the First Tsurugi, then left it to hang in midair, leaping off of Barachiel's pinwheeling form to snatch another one of his blades before doubling back and delivering another slash.

Cloud did this three more times, each time with a different blade, his strikes leaving deep, gaping wounds in Barachiel's body, until he leaped up to grab the last blade of the First Tsurugi. He took it by the handle, shooting downward like an avenging force of nature, and buried the blade between Barachiel's eyes.

He dropped back down to the ground and caught the main blade of the First Tsurugi as it and all the other blades plummeted to earth. Barachiel fell as well, landing with a thump next to him.

His wounds were already closing up. He reached up to his head and pulled the sword out of it. However, Cloud noted that the longswords that Barachiel had been manipulating with the liquid had been dropped, no longer wrapped in red-black tendrils.

"That was magnificent," Barachiel said, getting to his feet. "Absolutely magnificent. You took a lot out of me with that attack, Cloud Strife – so much that I can't even use the JENOVA-disease hybrid matter to control my extra swords any longer for fear of endangering myself. However…" He began to glow with spirit energy. So did his fallen swords, which rose up into a circle above Cloud's head. "It was not enough." He met Cloud's gaze with a smug smile. "Do you have any last words?"

"Actually, yes, I do," Cloud said, and he leveled his hand at Barachiel, a fully charged incineration technique roiling in his palm. "Go to hell."

Barachiel had just enough time to look surprised before Cloud annihilated him. The incinerating blast roared out from Cloud's hand, a pure white destructive force, reducing Barachiel to less than ash. The longswords that had been hovering around Cloud's head stopped glowing and fell back to earth.

Cloud held his pose for two long seconds before he allowed himself to slowly tip over and land roughly on his back, exhaustion overcoming him. He closed his eyes, focusing on breathing, sure that he would live and somebody would show up soon with a Restore Materia.

Despite himself, he grinned. It had only him taken twenty-eight seconds to charge up the incineration technique this time.


	14. Chapter 14

"You should have retreated and found me," Vincent said. "The Losts didn't take me that long to finish off."

Cloud shrugged. "It turned out okay. I'd say that's what counts, right?"

The two of them sat in a New Corel restaurant, where they were having huge plates of food pushed on them as thanks for having saved the town from the biggest outbreak since the Fall. Vincent, acting on a hunch, had pulled a Restore Materia out of the attack transport before going to the mine. He had found Cloud lying on his back in the dust, bleeding from half a dozen different wounds, including two nasty slashes up his legs. He had also found a few charred bits that he assumed had once been a Lost of some sort.

"It would have been easier if you'd had me there to pump him full of incendiary rounds," Vincent pointed out.

"You don't understand," Cloud said. "I used the true Omnislash at will. It may have been in extraordinary circumstances, but I still did it. When I was fighting Sephiroth, I was so caught up in my emotions and the danger that I didn't even think, I just did it. This time I chose to."

"And you still almost died because your opponent could apparently stand up to it. It's a powerful attack, but that doesn't guarantee victory. You know that."

Cloud nodded as he picked at a dish that was covered in brown sauce and filled with meat, vegetables, and capers. "That surprised me. I mean, it took a lot out of Barachiel, but it killed Sephiroth outright. Why are our enemies more powerful than Sephiroth was?"

"They aren't," Vincent said. "Well – they're obviously far more durable than he was, but that was because he was manifested through a Remnant body infused with JENOVA cells, hardly the ideal operating conditions for him. I'm sure that Sephiroth in his original body could have easily killed Renbato and this Barachiel."

Cloud obviously had bitten down on a caper because he made a face and grabbed a glass of water. "Too salty. Um. I guess you're right. I should have asked why they're so much more durable."

"What did Barachiel tell you about the liquid he used to manipulate his swords?"

"He said it's a JENOVA-disease hybrid product that transcends the phases of matter. I guess that means it's liquid, solid, gas, everything at once. It doesn't make much sense, but it seemed to work that way."

"Otherwise, how could it phase through his jumpsuit if it was a solid, and then grasp longswords if it wasn't?" Vincent said. "That makes sense. At any rate, Renbato used it to duplicate himself, depending upon his unnaturally powerful life-force to let him take punishment, but Barachiel was obviously smarter than that. We know three things: first, that the JENOVA-Lost hybrids – that's really what they are – are extraordinarily durable, and the only way we can really kill them is completely annihilating them with an incineration technique or a similar energy attack like a Blade Beam.

"Second, the liquid – well, it looks like a liquid, but we should really call it a fluid to be precise – that they use makes up the entirety of their bodies. In this sense, they don't really have bodies at all. I'm guessing the reason that they all take on a human form is because they used to be human and they have an ego image that they naturally conform to. This means cutting and dismembering them is worse than useless. Energy or explosive attacks are the only way to even hurt them.

"Thirdly, you must have just fought an upper-tier member of the Immaculate Swords."

"Really? How do you figure that?" Cloud asked.

"Simple," Vincent replied. "Renbato Wŭgerén – a standard Wutainese name. Barachiel – completely different. He didn't even give you a surname, or perhaps that was his surname. It's a small detail, but telling."

"Hmm." Cloud kept eating, hungry after the fight and all the Cure magic used to heal his wounds. "Well. What's our next move?"

"What do you mean?" Vincent asked. "Inquisitors travel east and west putting out brushfires and outbreaks. We're trained specially to deal with the disease, but that doesn't stop us from being effective peacekeepers on our own." Cloud's eyes flicked to the duffel bag at Vincent's side and wondered if that was the kind of peacekeeping the gunman was talking about, but said nothing. "We essentially go where we're needed and help whenever we can."

Cloud nodded and then froze. Vincent was sitting with his back to the entrance, which had been left open to keep the air flowing, so he didn't see what Cloud had. A man had just walked through Cloud's peripheral vision, wearing a traveler's cloak to keep the sun from burning him.

His humanity was slowly draining away. He was a potential Lost. Cloud could see it as clearly as the nose on Vincent's face.

"Vincent," he said. "My _kànderén_ just picked up a man walking by outside who's turning into a Lost."

Vincent raised an eyebrow. "And? Why are you still sitting here? Go outside and kill him, quickly, before he infects anyone else."

"But –"

"But _what,_ Cloud?" Vincent asked, fire suddenly burning in his eyes. "You agreed to this when we helped you learn _kànderén_. There is no way to treat the disease. The only way to stop an infected person from transforming into a Lost, which is possibly the most horrible way in existence to go, is to kill him swiftly and without him realizing it's about to happen." He leaned forward, his brow furrowing. "This is your job, Cloud. We're the ones who get our hands dirty because nobody else will. You saw him, now you go and take care of him. You're not deflecting this onto me."

Cloud glared back at Vincent, but deep down he knew that the older man was right. "Fine. I'll be right back." He got up, grabbed the First Tsurugi and stuck it back in its harness, and stepped outside.

Ordinarily the man would have been hard to pick out from the crowds moving through the streets, but to Cloud he stuck out like a flashing beacon. Cloud swallowed and started moving purposefully toward him. He promised himself that it would be quick, that the man wouldn't even know what had hit him. He raised his hand to the First Tsurugi's hilt and slowly began to accumulate spirit energy along the blade, readying a Blade Beam to take the man out in one, swift, decisive shot.

Then the man happened to glance behind him. He saw Cloud, who was glowing slightly with spirit energy, and then he saw Cloud's hand on the hilt of the First Tsurugi. His expression grew alarmed and he said, "What's going on? Who are you?"

Cloud felt his stomach start doing somersaults, ice beginning to trickle through his veins. "Nothing's going on," he said. "I'm just Cloud. Calm down, there's nothing wrong."

"Cloud…" The man suddenly grew even more alarmed. "You're one of the Inquisitors that came here! You… I…" His eyes grew wide and he whispered, "Am I infected?"

Cloud opened his mouth to say something, but he never got the chance. The man suddenly started to scream, a long and inhuman sound, and his skin began to ripple. Blood started spurting from his arteries straight through the skin, staining the ground around him with reddish-black liquid. His eyes bulged in their sockets, getting larger and larger. Something in his jaw broke and came unhinged, and his teeth exploded out of his gums as fangs rocketed up from beneath them. The same thing happened to his fingernails and toenails, which was made worse when he started to claw at himself, leaving long furrows of reddish-black, spurting blood.

Cloud swore and lashed out with the Blade Beam he had been charging, but the man threw himself out of the way, landing on his stomach. He pulled himself to his feet, the shreds of his cloak falling away from him, still screaming. All of the bones in his torso stood out as his spine twisted and arched underneath the skin until it bent sharply at the waist. He started ripping the hair out of his scalp, flinging bloody clumps of it everywhere as Cloud desperately started charging up an incinerating blast. People ran in all directions, their screams joining the now-Lost's, as what had been a man only ten seconds ago lashed out at Cloud with its razor-sharp talons.

Cloud faded back from the wild swipe, but he was so distraught and horrified that he couldn't properly focus. His flame began to flicker wildly, becoming unstable, and he suddenly felt the heat all over his arm. With a cry of pain he hurled the blue flame at the Lost, which was scorched but nowhere near killed by it, as his arm began to smoke.

The Lost leaped forward again. Cloud dodged out of the way, slashed down with the First Tsurugi, and cut it in half through the torso. It hit the ground and lay there, dead.

Vincent walked out of the restaurant and surveyed the damage on the deserted street. He looked at Cloud. "You tipped him off, didn't you?"

The look of pure horror on Cloud's face told Vincent everything he needed to know. He shook his head. "Don't blame yourself. You were uncomfortable doing this; you didn't know what would happen. But this is what happens when a potential Lost realizes just what it's going to go through." He motioned at the pathetic creature lying bleeding in the dust. "This is why we do what we do, Cloud. You'll never forget that now."

Cloud took a deep, shaky breath and nodded. "Never. Not after this." He thoroughly shook the First Tsurugi, aiming for the dirt. Blood sloshed off of its massive blade. After a few moments of that, he engulfed the sword in flame, burning away whatever fluids remained. As the blade cooled, Cloud incinerated the Lost's body and all the scattered blood, just as Yuffie had described to him. Vincent watched, silent but approving.

When that was done, Cloud slung the First Tsurugi back into its harness and winced as his arm protested. It was burned all over, raw flesh showing beneath peeling skin.

"I'll take care of that for you," Vincent said, preparing a Cure spell, but Cloud waved him off.

"No. It'll heal quickly enough. I need something to remind me of what happens when I screw up and don't keep calm."

Vincent shrugged. "If that's how you feel about it. Just don't lose control of an incinerating blast in the future, because that's what happens when you do."

"I understand." Cloud finally managed to get himself back to something resembling calm, and he said, "I'll take care of the corpse."

"I'll start on the blood everywhere," Vincent replied. "You didn't get any on you, did you?"

"No. I managed to dodge it."

"Good." Vincent began to walk past Cloud to get to the spattered bloodstains, but he paused next to his friend and laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Cloud nodded. "I… know." He looked at Vincent and asked, "Am I going to hate this job, Vincent?"

"I'm surprised you don't already."

"There."

Reeve pointed to a tiny speck on the image of the North Crater that Red XIII had taken. The ex-Commissioner couldn't actually see the speck; a Cait Sith whose vision he was using sat on his shoulder for the occasion. "Zoom in two hundred percent and enhance," he ordered the machines surrounding him.

Vincent, Cloud, Yuffie, and Red XIII all squinted at the image on the monitor in front of Reeve, who sat in his throne in the room full of electronics and signal filterers. Cloud and Vincent had returned just minutes earlier, and it was already evening. When the image zoomed in and was enhanced, it was possible to tell that the speck was a deep hole in the ice. Judging from the scale that the monitor applied to the image, the hole would be a tight fit for a Chocobo.

"This is significant?" Cloud asked.

"The North Crater has been completely frozen over for years," Yuffie replied. "Like a giant snow-cone, except instead of root beer flavoring you get the bowels of the earth."

"Ah."

"The fact that there's a breach in the ice overhead means someone or something is down there," Red XIII said. "I didn't perform a closer fly-by because I was running on a very tight fuel consumption schedule and I didn't want to attract attention."

"You did the right thing," Vincent assured him. "Now. Cloud and I will go investigate this, first thing tomorrow morning. We'll need an attack transport –"

"You're not going," Reeve said.

It was like watching a train wreck. Vincent stopped talking in mid-sentence and stared at the back of Reeve's head, while the Cait Sith on Reeve's shoulder swiveled its head around to look at Vincent. "What?" Vincent finally asked.

"You're not going," Reeve replied. "Vincent, the Protectorate is limited to the Central Continent. You know this as well as I do. The reason I sent Red XIII on the scouting mission was to determine if Cloud's theory was right. Now that we know it is, we're going to do this properly and not send our two best Inquisitors alone into enemy territory with no idea of what's going on."

"But –"

Reeve held up a hand to stifle any further protest from Vincent. "I understand your zeal, Vincent, but we need you and Cloud here. We're going to do the sensible thing and take care of this properly."

"And how would that be?" Vincent demanded.

Reeve grabbed a keyboard off of a nearby tower, tapped in some commands and several passwords, and the image on the screen changed to a satellite.

"A satellite?" Cloud asked, confused.

"Yes," Reeve replied. "To be precise, a WRO communications satellite that we sent up in order to allow near-instantaneous global transmissions. Nobody uses it any more, of course, considering that the technology that interfaces with it has been entirely lost, but I still have remote control of the satellite." The view switched to a first-person shot of the world taken from the satellite. "In just under twenty hours, this satellite will be directly over the North Crater, at which point I'm going to power up its maneuvering thrusters and have it drop itself right on top of our friends down there."

"Reeve," Yuffie said, "did I ever mention to you that you're awesome?"

"You may have," Reeve said.

"Will the satellite even be able to penetrate the ice covering the crater?" Vincent asked. "We can't be sure that this will wipe them out."

"The point isn't to wipe them out," Reeve said. "The point is to destroy that nice little dome of privacy frozen over their heads and make it abundantly clear that we're not going to tolerate it any more. Look me in the eye – figuratively speaking – and tell me you don't think they were responsible for the outbreak in New Corel. It was just a convenient way to lure the two of you there."

"I guess you have a point," Cloud said. "But if the Immaculate Swords really want us dead, why don't they just stage a full-scale attack here?"

"We're well-prepared to defend ourselves in case of an assault by outside forces. What you've told me about the Immaculate Sword members indicates to me that they're certainly powerful, but all we have to do if they come within a mile of here is hit them with a surface-to-surface missile and reduce them and everything within a quarter mile of them to cinders."

Cloud nodded. "Makes sense. So, once you drop the satellite on them, is Red going back to take another picture or two in order to give us an idea of what's below the ice?"

"That's the plan," Reeve replied. "Red, you'll leave so your arrival at the Northern Continent coincides with the satellite hitting. That will give you plenty of distance to avoid any effects from the initial hit, but still put you close enough to get there in the aftermath before they can do anything to cover up whatever they've been hiding."

"A good plan," Red XIII said. "If that's the case, I should go and sleep before you need me again. If you'll excuse me." He padded out of the room and disappeared around a corner outside.

"So," Cloud said, "not to put a damper on everything, but won't a satellite smashing into the North Crater have ecological effects?"

"I imagine it might," Reeve replied. "However, the Planet is in just about the absolute worst place for humanity right now without being completely uninhabitable. One satellite crashing into the North Crater isn't going to make us any worse off than we already are." He laced his fingers together beneath his chin. "Now, I think the two of you should go and get some well-deserved rest. Yuffie, please see that they're taken care of. I can handle things from here."

"Sure thing," Yuffie said. "Come on, guys. Drinks are on me."

"Not that we pay for them in the first place," Cloud said.

She shook her head at him. "Spoilsport."

Cloud woke up in the middle of the night, head throbbing. He decided that he'd drunk far too much and he needed to rectify that at this very instant.

He levered himself out of bed and quietly moved out of Vincent's room. Vincent himself was sleeping contentedly, his breaths even and almost silent. Cloud felt his mouth quirk in a smile as he tried to imagine Vincent snoring noisily and failed.

Managing not to bump into too many things on his way to the kitchen, Cloud drank a glass of water and then swallowed some aspirin and a pair of raw eggs. Barret had always sworn that raw eggs were the key to an easy, do-it-yourself hangover cure, and Cloud felt that eating them actually did make him feel better – although that could have been just a placebo effect. Regardless, if it made him feel less like shit, he was fine with it.

On his way back to his room, Cloud heard a faint sound coming from Yuffie's room. He stood stock still and stopped breathing. In the dead silence, he realized it was the sound of crying.

Slowly, he tiptoed up to her room and knocked lightly. The sound of crying abruptly stopped, or at least became more muted, before Yuffie's voice floated out. "Who is it?" She definitely did not sound like herself.

"It's Cloud," Cloud called. "Can I come in?"

"If you want." Cloud opened the door and let himself inside. Yuffie's room was sparsely furnished, the only furniture a desk, a chair, and her bed. Yuffie herself was sitting up in bed, tears dropping onto the sheets.

"Hey," Cloud said. "What's wrong?"

"Look at me," Yuffie said, running her fingers down her face. "Look at me, that's what's wrong."

"You look fine," Cloud said, moving to sit on the side of the bed. "Really."

"Sure," Yuffie said. "I look fine for a sixty-six-year-old. I hate this, Cloud. I'm old and wrinkly and disgusting and useless and nobody ever looks at me the way they used to."

"You are not disgusting or useless," Cloud said. "You're not really wrinkly, either. I mean… come on. Even I have wrinkles around my eyes. It's just natural."

"I have wrinkles on my elbows," Yuffie said. "On my goddamn _elbows,_ Cloud. I hate being old." She wiped at her eyes and sniffed. "Sometimes I'd give anything to be young again. I swear to everything that's holy that I would."

"I'm sorry," Cloud said, not sure what to say. "What brought this on, though? I mean, you seemed happy enough earlier."

"I shouldn't have had those drinks," Yuffie replied. "They got me thinking, and that got me nostalgic, and that made me remember the date. Twenty-one years ago today, Vincent told me – I can still see him standing there, all stiff and serious – 'Yuffie, I have given it a lot of thought, and I don't think we should continue our relationship.'"

"Why?" Cloud asked.

"He gave a lot of reasons. He was too worried about protecting me when we went out on assignment together. It made everyone else tense – we were a lot more tight-knit back then, not like today how Inquisitors are basically wandering blades. That kind of stuff. But I could tell the real reason. I was forty-five, Cloud. My body wasn't what it used to be and Vincent was getting tired of me. He wasn't attracted to me anymore. He still had that gorgeous, perfect body – have you ever seen his hip bones? You just want to run your tongue along them. He was still twenty-seven, and I was getting old and I could tell that the spark was gone."

Cloud had felt vaguely uncomfortable throughout the speech, no more so than when Yuffie had mentioned Vincent's hip bones and her fascination with them, but when she came to a halt he felt incredulous. "I can't imagine Vincent doing that. He's… he's just Vincent. I didn't think he even had… well. Needs. Anymore. I mean, he probably can, and probably enjoys it, but I thought that whatever relationship he'd be in, it wouldn't be just because of the physical aspect."

"You know what they say about assumptions," Yuffie replied miserably.

Not sure what to do, Cloud finally decided on the direct approach. He slid himself up the side of the bed until he was next to Yuffie, gave her a kiss on the forehead, and pulled her into a hug. "It's okay. Trust me, you look really good, and not just for a sixty-six-year-old."

The act was so unlike the withdrawn, reserved Cloud that she knew that Yuffie just sat there, shocked, for several seconds before she finally summoned the presence of mind to smile and return the embrace. "You're a bad liar, Cloud. But I appreciate it."

"No problem." Cloud held the hug for a couple more seconds before disengaging and getting up. "Do you need anything before I go back to bed?"

"No," Yuffie said. "I just need to go back to sleep and I'll feel better in the morning. Goodnight, Cloud."

"Goodnight." Cloud let himself out of her room and closed the door behind him before allowing himself to blow out a long sigh. He leaned against the door, eyes closed. So he'd been right when he felt something between Vincent and Yuffie, though he wasn't sure what. They hadn't been dating or even seemed interested in one another back before Project R had gotten to him, but then again, he hadn't really been paying attention, either.

Finally, he levered himself off of the door and moved back to Vincent's room. He closed that door behind him, lay back down on his cot, and closed his eyes.

"She still loves you, you know," he said to Vincent.

"I know," Vincent replied.

"How long have you been awake?"

"Since you got up."

"How much did you hear?"

"All of it. It was hard not to, what with the house being so quiet and my hearing being so acute."

"Was she telling the truth? Were you just not attracted to her any longer?"

"That had nothing to do with it. Yuffie only feels that way because she hates what age has done to her. If I were still with her, I wouldn't care what her body was like."

"Mm. Then why _did_ you leave her? Really?"

Vincent didn't reply for a minute, obviously articulating in his mind what he was going to say. Finally, he simply said, "Because I still love her too, and it would not work out."

"I see."

Cloud left it at that and slowly drifted off to sleep. He wasn't sure whether he believed Vincent or not, but the last thing he remembered thinking before dropping off was that the man should have felt lucky to even have somebody left alive to love. Cloud certainly didn't.


	15. Chapter 15

"The satellite should be hitting the North Crater in about twelve minutes," Reeve said.

Cloud, Vincent, and Yuffie were back in Reeve's room, looking at a series of monitors that listed time of impact, speed, predicted consequences, and a long account of other factors that either made little sense or were highly technical. Reeve was again using a Cait Sith to serve as his eyes. Finally, Cloud asked, "So, how big a hole is that going to make?"

"If everything goes well? A very big one."

"Red XIII's in position to conduct another flyby after the fact?"

"He left at the precise time necessary to get to the Northern Continent just as the satellite hits. He'll arrive and be able to recon shortly after the fact, then report back here in order to tell us what we're dealing with." Reeve sat back in his chair and stretched, his bones popping. "Realistically speaking, we shouldn't expect to actually see any results until he gets back. I just thought I'd tell all of you that the satellite is about to hit."

"Fun times," Yuffie said. "Is there any way we can get a live feed from the satellite as it smacks 'em?"

"The signal probably wouldn't make it through the EM interference for one," Reeve said, "and for two, even if it did, we have to assume that the Immaculate Swords are technologically proficient and might be able to intercept it. If they figure out that it's coming down, even if it's about to hit in only a little over ten minutes, they might have time to react and reduce the damage. We'll just wait for Red XIII to get back with a report."

"And that will take the better part of the day," Vincent said. "We can't imagine how the Immaculate Swords are going to react, so we should be ready. I suggest putting headquarters on high security alert."

"Already did."

"Good to hear. I'm going to go and clean the Peacekeeper."

Cloud chuckled. "I think I'll come with you. It sounds like a fun time."

Reeve began to wave them away, but then he froze. "No. Both of you need to wait. There's something that you need to see, right now."

"What?" Cloud asked.

"You remember all that theorizing we did about there being something in Project R's Deepground base of operations that the Immaculate Swords didn't want us discovering?"

"You sent a Cait Sith to take a long, in-depth look at the place," Vincent replied. "We remember."

"I think it just found what the Immaculate Swords didn't want you to find," Reeve said. He pulled a monitor around so they could see it.

"Operation Worst Case," Yuffie read the heading. "What the hell's this?"

"The Cait Sith just finished a full analysis of the data file," Reeve said. "It took quite a bit of digging through the base's computers, but it finally found this and catalogued it as highly interesting. Apparently, Operation Worst Case was a special undertaking by Project R, specifically for the operation's namesake – which, apparently, was Cloud finding out about them and starting to fight them."

"Should I be flattered?" Cloud wondered.

"Lucky or not, you did kill Sephiroth," Vincent said. "Anyone going up against you should at least have a healthy respect for you. What were the details of this operation, Reeve?"

Reeve threaded his fingers together and began to fidget, a sign that it wasn't good news. "The operation was designed to provide Project R with a secret weapon, an ace in the hole, to use against anyone who opposed them in general and Cloud in particular. This wasn't related to their work on the disease; it was a measure they were going to take to protect that work in case they were exposed and it became necessary to defend themselves. The weapon… well." He reached out and tapped a portion of the monitor, which triggered a full-screen image.

Zack Fair's face stared out at them.

Vincent and Yuffie looked puzzled, but Cloud inhaled sharply and swore. "You're kidding me. Zack." The name triggered Vincent and Yuffie's memories and they also looked surprised.

"I'm dead serious," Reeve said. "The files on the operation indicate that, just as they were able to get a sample of your blood for the breeding of JENOVA cells, they were able to get a sample of his DNA for cloning him."

Cloud closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing. "I buried him with my bare hands before I managed to make it into Midgar somehow. This means… those bastards must have dug up his corpse."

"It seems that way."

"But why would the Immaculate Swords care even in the slightest whether or not we found out about this?" Vincent asked. "Yes, Project R managed to get a sample of Zack Fair's DNA and probably even cloned him. We never saw anything resembling him in that base, though, and they obviously never used the clone against anybody. Why would they want to conceal its existence?"

"Think," Reeve said. "It seems fairly obvious to me."

"They took him," Cloud murmured. "When they got me, Project R must have decided that the operation wasn't going to be necessary and either scrapped it or just forgotten about it – either of those means that the clone, assuming he was fully or even partially grown, was just left in stasis. Like me."

"The Immaculate Swords have the clone," Yuffie said. "That must be it."

"But what do they hope to accomplish with him?" Reeve asked. "Historically, Zack Fair was an extremely powerful First-class SOLDIER, in terms of strength easily on par `with his instructor Angeal Hewley and even Genesis –" Vincent carefully concealed his surprise about Reeve knowing that name – "but that doesn't mean his clone will be like he was. The original Zack was psychologically stable and in excellent condition, meaning he took to the SOLDIER treatments well and they increased his effectiveness by extraordinary amounts. We have no idea what sort of condition his clone would be in, especially after more than forty years of stasis, when he was taken by the Immaculate Swords."

"Not to mention that the clone isn't really Zack," Cloud said. "I don't see why they intended a clone to be a secret weapon against me. He looks like Zack, but he doesn't have Zack's mind or his personality. The life experiences of a human being have just as much impact on their personality as their genes, if not more. If they wanted to use him as a secret weapon because I wouldn't want to fight him, they'd be wasting their time."

"Does the file say anything else?" Yuffie asked Reeve. "Any modifications they might have made to the clone, any tinkering they did with his genes?"

"If they did do anything of the sort, the file didn't say," Reeve replied. "It outlines how they were going to give the clone flash-memory learning and train him to fight within a very brief period of time, but it's nothing we can't deduce that they'd be doing. Really, even with their using Zack Fair as the source material for the operation, I don't see how it could possibly be a real counter to what they considered the worst-case scenario for their project."

They all looked at the monitor in silent contemplation for another moment before Vincent said, "Well. As disturbing as that is, my gun still needs cleaning. Unless there's something else I can contribute here, I'm going to go and do that." He swirled his cloak around him and let himself out.

"I didn't sleep well last night," Yuffie said. "I'm going to go and take a nap." She also let herself out, leaving Cloud alone in the room with Reeve, staring at Zack's picture.

"Was this just a personal attack against me?" Cloud muttered. "Trying to get to me by using the image of my dead friend? How does that even make any sense? And what do the Immaculate Swords want with this clone?"

"I can't really answer any of those questions," Reeve said. "However, I think we're going to find out more as soon as Red XIII gets back. The satellite should be hitting the crater… _now._ "

Cloud couldn't feel anything happen, of course, considering that the impact was on the roof of the world and he was less than a thousand miles north of the equator, but he still somehow felt better about the whole situation. Red XIII would come back with a thorough analysis of what had been hidden beneath the ice, they would formulate a plan, and it would all work itself out. He was sure of it.

* * *

Cloud began to worry when Red XIII's return time came and there was no sign of him. He started to worry more when an hour passed and there was still nothing.

Three hours later, he and everyone else in the Protectorate headquarters were trying not to explode into a full-blown panic. Red XIII's craft didn't actually have the fuel capacity to have been in the air for this long. Either he had been forced to put down short of the Protectorate, he'd crashed, or he hadn't even made it to the North Crater. And since long-distance radio only functioned once in a blue moon, there was no way of contacting him.

Finally, Reeve called Cloud and Vincent into his room. Yuffie went in with them because she insisted on not having any news sugar-coated.

"There's a very high possibility that Red XIII is dead," Reeve said.

Yuffie slammed a fist down on a nearby console and it beeped in what sounded like protest. "Dammit. Why didn't we send anybody else with him?"

"Anyone else we sent would probably have met the same fate," Vincent said. "And then we would have lost two friends instead of one."

"We need to go after him," Cloud said. "I know he'd do the same if it was any one of us in his position."

"I second that," Reeve agreed. "However, let's remember that Red would also exercise caution and not let his emotions get the better of him. Rushing in without a plan is no better than suicide." He keyed in several commands on a monitor and said, "I've just issued an order for a general assembly of the armed forces of the Protectorate."

"And what does that amount to?" Cloud asked.

"About a thousand people," Vincent replied. "Soldiers, mercenaries, pilots, mechanics, what have you. Nothing compared to the WRO back in its glory days, but the best we can do in circumstances like these."

"We're going to mobilize and march on the North Crater," Reeve said. "A skeleton crew, including myself and Yuffie, will stay here to guard headquarters and make sure that everyone has somewhere to come back to."

"Now wait just a minute," Yuffie said.

"No," Reeve said flatly. "Yuffie, you're sixty-six. You can't go around taking risks and fighting like you used to – it's far too dangerous, especially against enemies like these. Even if I wasn't blind, I wouldn't be going either. We need people to stay here just as much as we need people to go on this expedition."

Yuffie said something long and probably obscene in Wutainese and stormed out of the room. Reeve looked sorry for a moment, but he quickly recovered his stoic mask of calm. "You two are leaving as soon as you can."

"Aren't we going with the general mobilization?" Cloud asked.

"No," Vincent said. "Reeve is using the mobilization as a diversion. Given the power the Immaculate Swords must have, they're not the kind of enemy you can fight by throwing numbers at them. If we do indeed have a leak in the Protectorate, the two of us being dispatched to the North Crater would generate at least a small-sized hullabaloo that would get back to the Immaculate Swords. As things stand, with the order for a general mobilization going out and people scrambling to get here, the two of us slipping out sans assignment will not be noticed."

"Precisely," Reeve agreed. "Pack your things, get some supplies, and get out of here tonight under cover of darkness. You'll have to make your own way to the North Crater; if you receive any Protectorate aid you'll be compromised. A full mobilization will take a week; you have that long to get up there and find Red XIII or what's left of him. After that, it'll take us two or three days to get to the north tip of the Central Continent, so just be ready to meet us there at that point. Nobody will be happy about having been mobilized for nothing, but it's better than the alternative."

"Understood," Vincent said. "Cloud, let's get ready."

"One more thing," Cloud replied, looking at Reeve. "Reeve, I hate to say this, but… don't tell Yuffie what's going on."

Reeve raised an eyebrow. "You think she's the leak?"

"Of course not. But I do think she feels bad enough about having to get left behind here. If she finds out that we're going alone to the North Crater to get Red back, she might just pack her things and follow us."

"I see your point. But how will she react when she finds out what really happened?"

"We'll worry about that when we get back alive." Cloud grasped Reeve's hand and shook it firmly. "We'll be seeing you."

"Take care, Cloud," Reeve said. "Vincent."

"You too, Reeve," Vincent said. "Cloud, let's go." The two men turned and moved purposefully out the door. Reeve watched them go through the eyes of a Cait Sith in a corner of the room and hoped that it wouldn't be the last time he saw them alive.

* * *

"I miss the days when people gave us stuff for free!" Cloud yelled over the sound of engines.

"They were very nice!" Vincent agreed.

The two of them roared across the desert in the dead of night on a pair of motorcycles. They'd stopped in New Nibelheim, which lay only a few dozen miles north of Old Nibelheim, and stolen the bikes. Without them, there wouldn't be any chance that they could even get to the northern tip of the Central Continent in the space of a week, much less make it all the way up to the North Crater.

"By the way!" Cloud said. "Are we there yet?"

"No!" Vincent called. "And if you ask that again I'm going to shoot you!"

Cloud laughed and gunned his engine. "Sorry! It's just been a while since I could just ride and not have to worry about anything!"

"Really, Cloud? You're not worried about anything?"

Even through the roar of the combustion engines, Cloud could hear the disapproval in his friend's voice. "I'm concerned for Red XIII, of course, but what good is worrying about him going to do? All we can do is get to the North Crater as fast as we can, and that's exactly what we're doing!"

"I suppose I see your point!" Vincent said. "At any rate, we're not going to be there for another day of riding at least! Longer if we stop to sleep!"

"Who needs sleep? We can sleep when we get there, not before!"

Vincent shrugged. "If that's the way you feel about it, I have no objections!"

They rode in silence after that, moving at a hundred and twenty miles an hour through trackless wastes. Cloud occasionally reached for the canteen at his waist and took a small sip of water, just enough to wet his throat but not enough to cut into their supply. They had brought enough water and rations for two weeks, and since Vincent didn't really need to eat or drink more than once a month or so it was essentially all for Cloud's benefit.

Just as Vincent had said, they rode for almost twenty more hours before they reached the northernmost point of the Central Continent. What used to be the ocean stretched out before them, a vast trench carved into the world that went down for miles before it hit what little ocean there was left.

"How do we get around this?" Cloud asked, getting off of his bike and stretching sore muscles. Riding for almost a day straight had not been a forgiving experience.

"We don't get around it," Vincent replied. "We go straight through it."

"That sounds like suicide. It must be three or four miles down, and then there's a few more miles of water. Reeve told me that what's left of the oceans is so salty that a few mouthfuls will kill you."

"He wasn't kidding, either," Vincent said. "However, there's a very simple solution to both of these problems."

Cloud suddenly realized that he could hear engines approaching, and he reached for the First Tsurugi, but Vincent shook his head. "The Protectorate keeps an outpost here for people who need to cross the ocean," he said. "I phoned ahead while you were half-asleep at the wheel."

"I didn't need to be that awake to drive through a desert!" Cloud protested.

A minute later, a large truck pulled up to the two of them. It had something large wrapped in a tarp in the bed, and an old man got out of the vehicle and said, "Good to see you again, Valentine. Who's your friend?"

"Not important, Bones," Vincent said. "We just need to get across the ocean, and we're in a hurry."

"Well, that's what they keep me up here for," the old man said with a cackle. Cloud couldn't see him well in the evening light, but he had the sneaking suspicion that the man was missing most of his teeth. "Here're your rides, gents." He hobbled over to the back of the truck and pulled the tarp off of two folded-up, compactly stored gliders.

Vincent and Cloud helped the man pull the gliders out of the truck before they bade him goodbye and watched him vanish into the distance. Cloud turned and looked at the gliders. "You want us to fly over the ocean? That's got to be as just as long a journey as the one we took to get here! How are gliders going to help us make it?"

Vincent gave Cloud a tight smile. "First, we get some sleep. You'll want to be awake for this. Tomorrow I'm going to give you a crash course in Materia Gliding."

* * *

At first, Cloud had been irritated and constantly cursing his own failures. Then something had clicked, he'd gotten it, and he was suddenly having the time of his life.

Vincent watched Cloud swoop through the air, propelled by the wind and the short, hot blasts of flame generated by his Fire Materia to keep him aloft. By exploding an intensely hot and short-lived flame out of one or more of his extremities, Cloud could easily steer, generate hot air to keep himself aloft, and even ascend at will. It was tricky business at first, but the gliders had been designed for this and they'd been made out of special, flame-resistant material. Once Cloud had the hang of it, Vincent joined him, setting up his own glider and blasting off into the air with short, controlled bursts.

They swooped and dove and did aerial acrobatics for the better part of an hour until Cloud was completely sure of himself. After all, the advantage to training above solid ground was that if something went wrong, they'd be able to make an emergency landing and Cure any broken bones. When they were miles and miles above an unforgiving ocean, there would be no such second chances.

"We should just use these to get to the North Crater and back," Cloud said when they landed for him to have a quick lunch and a drink before they took off over the ocean. "Forget traveling on foot, I don't see why people don't just do this."

"Not everyone has the spirit energy you and I do," Vincent replied. "We can generate short bursts for hours or even days without having to stop and consciously let ourselves recover. Most people couldn't even manage an hour at most. Additionally, Fire Materia and by extension all other Materia are much rarer nowadays than they used to be. The fact that you need one for every glider means that this isn't a reliable mode of transportation."

"I guess I see your point. What's our plan from here on out?"

Vincent pulled a map out of his pack and laid it out on the ground in front of them. "We are here," he said, indicating a specific point on it. "The shortest route to the Northern Continent is straight across this area, here – it's where the ocean gap is narrowest. However, a slightly longer route is here –" he showed Cloud another mark on the map – "where we fly for about three-fifths the total distance of the straight shot, get to set down on an island and rest, and then fly another three-fifths the distance and end up in essentially the same place."

"We don't have any time to waste," Cloud said. "We should take the shortest route."

"We're still ahead of schedule," Vincent pointed out. "I think we should take the longer route and give ourselves a chance to rest. Overland flight across the ocean on one of these gliders is more tiring than you'd expect it to be."

Cloud chewed at his bottom lip and finally said, "Well, I guess you're right. The longer route isn't that much worse in terms of distance than the short one, and we'll have an opportunity to put down in case something goes wrong. What kind of island are we talking about here?"

"A small one," Vincent said. "Only about a mile across. No distinguishing features except for a small cave that we can use as shelter."

"Fine. Let's be on our way."


	16. Chapter 16

The island was right where Vincent had said it would be, and Cloud – though he was loath to admit it – was glad that he'd assented to Vincent's wishes as far as taking the longer route that would let them rest. Gliding for hours was tiring, and he was glad to free himself from the glider and stretch.

Vincent had started a small fire inside the mouth of the cave he had mentioned, and after restoring feeling in his legs Cloud moved over to it, broken out some rations, and ate. Then he fell asleep.

Now Cloud woke up with a quiet start from a dream. He saw that the fire had died down to bare embers, and Vincent was asleep. The gunman was sitting up against the wall of the cave, eyes closed, breathing steadily. His hand rested on Cerberus, holstered at his hip, and he had the Peacekeeper underneath his arm. The way he held it, it looked almost like a large and deadly stuffed animal.

Cloud dragged himself into a sitting position and rubbed at his eyes. He couldn't even remember what he had been dreaming about – flashes of colors and vague images, movement and stillness – and he thought that he should go back to sleep.

He was about to do just that when he noticed a very faint glow coming from the back of the cave. The cave obviously extended deep underground; Cloud and Vincent were just using its mouth to give them some shelter. The glow hadn't been visible during the day, and Vincent's fire had drowned it out with its own radiance. Now that the fire had gone shrunk it was possible to detect the light.

Confused and curious, Cloud got to his feet and walked into the cave, following the source of the light. It grew, both in intensity and size, as he walked for what felt like at least a mile or two. At one point the thought crossed his mind that Vincent might wake up and be concerned at his absence, but it slipped out of his consciousness almost as soon as it entered. What a remote and entirely pointless possibility to entertain.

Cloud hesitated, shaking his head. That last thought hadn't been his. Something else was here, some consciousness that had lured him down here with the light. His hand automatically went to the First Tsurugi, only to grab at empty air. Cloud swore and realized that he had left it at the camp, not thinking that he would need it inside the cave.

"I'm not playing this game," Cloud said out loud. "I'm not going any deeper. Whoever you are, you can either talk to me or you can watch me walk back to my camp and go back to sleep."

"You'll play whatever game I want you to, Cloud Strife. You're mine now."

An intense pain blossomed at the back of Cloud's head, and he staggered, clutching at the spot in agony. He couldn't feel anything there, and he didn't sense anybody behind him. He whirled around anyway, trying to find the enemy, and there was indeed someone there. It was a woman, clad in a skintight black jumpsuit, and she was grinning at him.

"Go to sleep, Cloud Strife."

Cloud felt his eyes drift shut, and everything faded away into darkness.

* * *

Vincent woke with a start.

He had been dreaming – about what he had no idea, only that there had been strange flashes of color and motion. Looking across the now-dead fire, he saw Cloud, curled up and asleep, occasionally twitching. He was also obviously dreaming about something.

Moving to rekindle the fire, Vincent noticed a glow coming from the back of the cave. He squinted and shook his head at it, wondering if it had been there before. It was faint enough to have been drowned out by the fire, but he didn't remember it having been here the two other times he had taken shelter in this cave. If it was natural, it should have been here before.

That meant something had changed, which meant that there was a possible threat. Vincent checked to make sure that the Peacekeeper was loaded and then he moved to wake Cloud up.

"That's not right," someone said. "You should be getting up and going after the light, shouldn't you?"

Vincent whirled, thumbing off the Peacekeeper's safety as he did so. He sighted down the barrel of the gun at a woman standing in the back of the cave. She had fiery red hair, green eyes, a small nose and full lips. Something about her features suggested a keen intellect behind her beauty. She was also wearing a black special operations jumpsuit that hugged her body tightly, showing her curves. If Vincent wasn't on high alert and if he didn't know what the jumpsuit signified, he might have found her distracting, even seductive.

"I'm not in the habit of going after strange lights in caves," he said. "Sorry if you thought I was. Who are you?"

"That's no way to talk to a lady."

"What?"

"You're pointing a gun at me."

"That's not going to change anytime soon."

"I think it is."

Vincent was suddenly aware of the fact that the First Tsurugi was being held against his throat. Cloud had risen and grabbed the sword in a flurry of completely soundless quicksilver motion. Looking out of the corner of his eye, Vincent could tell that Cloud's eyes were open, but they were blank and stared at nothing. This was not a good sign.

"All right," he said. He put the Peacekeeper down with exaggerated movements and then held his hands in the air. "Would you mind telling me who you are?"

"That's better," the woman purred, walking closer. Her voice was low, and she had a hint of an accent that Vincent couldn't place. "My name, if you must know, is Alexandra Nueva. I am one of the Immaculate Swords."

"That much I could tell without the introduction."

He felt the First Tsurugi cut a hair into his neck, and Alexandra clucked at him. "Vincent Valentine, you shouldn't be so unpleasant. I'm not here for you, after all. As far as I'm concerned, you can stay here and rot for the rest of time. I see no reason to kill you if you promise to be an agreeable person."

"So that would mean you're here for him."

"A keen mind. Shame it is wasted on the Protectorate." She moved to stand next to Cloud, running a hand down his cheek. "Everyone will be quite pleased when I bring him back for testing. They laughed when I insisted that the two of you would be coming here in search of your companion, they swore you would not be so impetuous and rash, but I knew. I was right."

"Testing?"

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with. Now, Cloud, be a dear and knock him out. We don't want unnecessary bloodshed, after all."

Cloud removed the First Tsurugi from Vincent's throat and made to bash him over the head with the sword's hilt, but that gave Vincent all the time in the world to throw himself forward, come up in a roll with the Peacekeeper in his hands, and blow Alexandra's head clean off in an explosion of flame.

That made Cloud stumble and blink rapidly for a moment. He looked confused and brought his free hand up to rub at his eyes. "What… How?"

Alexandra's head reformed almost instantly, her expression livid. "You stupid oaf, you gave him time to recover!" She moved behind Cloud to give herself cover from Vincent, and Cloud's eyes glazed over again. "Kill him! He won't be willing to hurt you; you'll have a natural advantage."

Vincent sighed as Cloud pulled up the First Tsurugi and charged, angling the sword in for a precision strike that would split his head clean open. He dropped the Peacekeeper and pulled Cerberus from his belt instead, then fired a single round that slammed into the First Tsurugi's edge and threw it off-course, sending it careening into a wall. Cloud stumbled forward right into a blow from Vincent's gauntlet, which he curled into a fist and slammed into Cloud's jaw in a vicious uppercut that clicked the blonde's teeth together and lifted him off of his feet. Vincent slid easily out of the way as Cloud collapsed, insensate, to the floor, his sword clattering to the ground next to him.

"Unfortunately for you, I know my friend," Vincent said. "Even after forty-five years, I remember his strengths… and his openings." He picked up the Peacekeeper and leveled it at Alexandra. "Whatever hypnosis you used on him, it's not going to work very well if he's unconscious." He cracked his neck casually and said, "Now you're going to be answering some questions for me."

"You think you can threaten me with your puny little gun?" Alexandra laughed. "You have no idea who you're dealing with, do you?"

"Don't patronize me," Vincent said. "I know you're not a member of the higher tier of the Immaculate Swords."

Her sneer froze and she looked at him as though seeing him in a new light. "Oh, very astute. Yes, I'm a lower member, but I'm still more than a match for you, VINCENT VALENTINE!"

She punctuated shouting his name with a sudden, intensely bright flash of light. Vincent instinctively threw up a hand to shield his eyes and fired Cerberus at the spot where Alexandra had been. His shot went wild, and he heard it impact one of the walls of the cave and explode loudly. Inside his head, he berated himself; that was more than enough noise to mask Alexandra's movements.

The light faded just as quickly as it had come on. Vincent pulled his hand away from his eyes and put it back on his gun just in time to feel an immense, stabbing pain in the back of his head. His senses began to grow dull, and he instinctively swiped his gauntlet's razor-sharp talons through the space behind him. He didn't hit anything solid, but he felt his hand catch on something thin, as thin as a strand of hair, and he snapped it. Suddenly he didn't feel like his limbs were made out of lead, and he realized that this had to be how Alexandra fought.

He whirled, holstering Cerberus and picking up the Peacekeeper as he did so, and fired the rifle three times at the woman, who had used the opportunity given by the flash of light to get behind Vincent and start retreating into the cave. Two of the shots blew her legs off, dropping her to the floor, and the third nailed her through her torso, leaving a gaping hole.

"Done running yet?" Vincent asked, taking a moment to reload the gun.

"Go to hell!" Alexandra snarled, her legs turning into that same JENOVA-disease fluid and moving back toward her. It seemed as though she wasn't willing to perform a full-body transformation into the fluid to reconstitute herself, which jibed with the theory Vincent had on how she fought. In order for her abilities to function, she needed an operating brain, even if her consciousness wasn't tied to that brain.

"I don't know what the light is for or how you produce it, but if you can establish a direct link between yourself and an opponent's brain, you can send electrical impulses down that link and force them to move or act in whatever way you want them to. The only problem is that it requires that direct link." Vincent stepped forward and slashed his gauntlet through the air above Cloud's head, again feeling what anyone else would have dismissed as a strand of hair as it parted beneath his stroke.

"You don't know what the light is for? That's your loss." Alexandra, by this time in possession of all of her appendages again, threw out a hand and the light started to blind Vincent again, but this time he kept his eyes open and forced himself to gaze directly into it. He felt a nictitating membrane slide into place over his eyes, something that he'd possessed ever since monsters had been placed within his body more than half a century ago. It cut the light's brightness in half, and with it in place Vincent could see that it wasn't just a bright, shining source of light – it was flickering rapidly and producing different patterns, none of which made any sense to him. The light was coming from Alexandra's outstretched hand, which she had pointed at him threateningly.

Vincent aimed the Peacekeeper at her hand and sent a round shooting straight through it and up her arm. It detonated when it hit her elbow, blowing her arm into chunks and throwing her backward. The light instantly faded away into nothing, and she let out an unearthly shriek.

Cloud groaned and started to stumble to his feet, but Vincent kept the Peacekeeper trained on Alexandra as he said, "Cloud, are you all right? Do you know where you are?"

"My head hurts," the blonde replied. "And so does my jaw. What the hell happened?"

"She happened," Vincent said, indicating Alexandra with a nod of his head. "She can control your actions by infiltrating a wire through your skull into your brain. She can also generate vast amounts of light, and when my third eyelid got in place I could see that it was flickering oddly. It might be some form of hypnosis."

Alexandra stared at Vincent in undisguised shock. "You stared at the light for almost six seconds! How can you not be permanently blind and still have conscious thought processes?"

"Simple," Vincent explained. "Your techniques are obviously designed to work with maximum effectiveness on human beings. Despite my appearance, I'm not actually human." He kept the Peacekeeper trained on her and shrugged. "That means the only thing you have on me is the direct thread to my brain, which I've already severed. Clearly it has to go in the back of the skull, and as long as we keep you in our sights there's no way you can do that."

"He's right," Cloud said, leveling the First Tsurugi at Alexandra. "Give up, leave the island, and we won't be forced to kill you."

Between the two of them, they were expecting to be able to handle any reaction, but both of them were completely surprised when Alexandra threw her head back and started to laugh.

"It has to go in through the back of the skull? That's just my favorite point of entry." She grinned at both of them and said, "As long as it's in –" countless tiny strands of the fluid erupted from her hands and bristled threateningly – "YOU'LL BE MINE!"

Both Cloud and Vincent ducked instinctively as Alexandra threw her hands out and thousands of what might have passed for very long hairs erupted out at them. The strands of fluid shot over their heads and slammed into the walls of the cave, the impact leaving cracks in the stone.

"We don't have room to move in here!" Vincent said. "Cloud, we need to fight her outside!"

Cloud was already one step ahead of Vincent, barreling out of the cave at top speed, right past the withdrawing strands of fluid. Vincent ran after him, hot on his friend's heels, ready to lash out with his gauntlet if he felt any shooting pains anywhere in his head. He would have to be quick and get them as soon as he felt them – if Alexandra got one or more of her connections in his head and he had to stop to swat at them, she would probably be able to subdue him before he could free himself entirely.

"Vincent, dodge!" Cloud yelled, whirling and sending a Blade Beam straight at Vincent, who threw himself out of the way. The Blade Beam rushed through the space where the gunman had been and slammed into a literal forest of fluid protrusions, sending gouts of it everywhere.

"Thanks for the warning," Vincent growled.

"Sorry." Cloud felt the back of his head and shuddered. "Do you think the strand she got in there is going to infect me?"

"You don't have to worry about that, Cloud Strife," Alexandra laughed, walking out of the cave. Her arms were gone, replaced with massive forests of waving strands of JENOVA-disease fluid that were just barely visible in the moonlit night. "The disease in the fluid is entirely bonded to JENOVA cells and isn't infectious any longer. JENOVA is indeed the true cure to the disease – it bonds with it and turns it to the use of the cells' master. This was the ultimate goal of Project Revelations."

"Revelations?" Vincent asked.

"An ancient text, written in the same era as the epic poem LOVELESS – it speaks of the end of the world, and of a race of superior beings who will rise above the chaff, led by the Angels." Her grin widened and she went on, "We are but the first of an entire race of ultimate life-forms. The Seven Angels – although, thanks to your miraculous killing of Barachiel, they are now six – used to be simple human beings, but they rediscovered Project Revelations' work and put it to their own use. Renbato and I are amongst their followers, and together we are all the Immaculate Swords."

"Why are you telling us all of this?" Cloud demanded.

"Because once I've beaten the two of you, I'm going to bring you back and we are going to induct you into the order." Alexandra flexed her tendril-arms, a truly unpleasant sight. "The only reason you defend humanity in its weakness is because of your foolish attachment to it. We want to convert you, not destroy you."

"I don't think Barachiel wanted to convert me," Cloud pointed out.

"There was a reason that he was the least among the Angels. He could never think beyond the next fight or the next technique that he was going to acquire. The First Angel sent him against you because he wanted to know if you would make a worthy replacement. You passed the test."

"Regardless, you're still going to have to get those things inside our heads again to make us come with you," Vincent said. "And I don't see that happening anytime soon."

"That," Alexandra said, "is where you are very, very wrong."

The forests of waving fluid protrusions exploded out at them, thousands of tiny projectiles aimed in a wide spread, and only one or two of them needed to hit their marks. Vincent lashed out with a shot from his Fire Materia, creating a wall of flame that the fluid ran straight into and evaporated inside. Cloud defended himself with a Finishing Touch, the razor-edged tornado blocking the attack and scattering the strikes to the winds.

Alexandra wasn't done, though. She sent more protrusions at Vincent and Cloud, and the two of them couldn't keep shooting off walls of fire and Finishing Touches all day. They needed a new plan, and fast.

That was also when Alexandra started emitting intensely bright light again. Vincent felt his nictitating membrane slide over his eyes again, but he knew that Cloud had no such defense. The man would either have to close his eyes and fight blind, or risk both actually going blind and being hypnotized. Looking even closer, Vincent could see that Alexandra was generating the light with the JENOVA-disease fluid – it had to be some kind of special chemical reaction that she had developed specifically for this technique.

Vincent threw himself out of the way of having his head impaled by a thousand tiny barbs, aimed the Peacekeeper at the spot on Alexandra that was radiating the light, and fired. The light abruptly ceased and Vincent saw Cloud, who had also thrown himself to the ground in a dodge, open his eyes again.

"We can't get near her and we don't have the time to charge up an incinerating blast!" Cloud said. "What are we going to do?"

An idea occurred to Vincent, and he struck out at the innumerable strands of fluid with a sustained burst of electricity from his Lightning Materia. He saw the strands that it hit instantly dissolve and fade away into nothing. Alexandra laughed and said, "Nice try, but I'm not an idiot like Renbato! Each of the strands represents such a tiny increment of my life-force that I can easily dissolve it to avoid the kind of sustained energy attack you used on him!"

"You talk too much, though!" Vincent said.

Alexandra looked at him, confused, and then she stopped being able to look at him when Cloud seized the opening she'd given him. The blonde had gathered spirit energy into his legs as though he was executing a Climhazzard, but he'd leaped high into the air to perform this attack. He came down right on top of Alexandra and plunged the First Tsurugi through her head down into her body before channeling the rest of his spirit energy through the blade in a point-blank Blade Beam.

Alexandra literally exploded into a cloud of fluid, wet splotches of the stuff flying everywhere. Vincent laughed and then winced as Cloud forgot about his landing and did an incredibly painful-looking faceplant in the dirt. Without seeming too perturbed, Cloud pulled himself up and said, "Well. That hurt."

"She's not finished yet," Vincent said warningly as the fluid began to trail back into the cave with alarming alacrity in what was clearly a retreat. "And once she pulls herself back together she's not going to give us another huge opening like that one. Charge up an incineration technique and let's go – we might only have one shot at this."

They moved cautiously back into the cave, arms brimming with fire that had been pushed into the realm of pure destructive force. Alexandra was nowhere to be seen, and the light of their charged-up incinerating blasts wasn't bright enough to let Cloud see easily – Vincent had no problem, but he could tell that his friend was half-stumbling in the darkness.

"Her tactic will probably be to try to ambush us with another one of her flashes of light," Vincent whispered to Cloud. "If that happens, figure out where it might be coming from and just fire – don't hit me, but don't worry about being a hundred percent accurate. There are two of us and we just need to hit once."

"Roger," Cloud whispered back. He had the First Tsurugi in his off-hand and his primary hand was roiling with power.

They moved deeper and deeper into the cave, and Vincent felt the hairs on the back of his neck beginning to prickle. This wasn't right. How badly injured was Alexandra that she had to retreat this far back? Or was she baiting them into yet another trap? Vincent glanced over his shoulder, but he couldn't detect anything.

Then he looked at the ceiling and felt his blood run cold. The cave's walls were a relatively smooth and dark-colored rock. However, the last time he'd checked, the rock hadn't been a red so dark that it was almost black.

"THE CEILING!" he yelled, loosing his incinerating blast at the black mass that was clinging to the rock above their heads. Cloud saw the mass as well, illuminated in the pure white light of Vincent's attack, and also fired, his technique joining Vincent's in a blast of energy that burned an enormous hole into the rock above them. The light vanished as quickly as they'd produced it, leaving them in pitch blackness with no sound but their breathing.

"Now I have you."


	17. Chapter 17

Vincent cried out as he felt piercing pains all around his head, and he heard Cloud's cry at the same moment. He struck out with his gauntlet, trying to free himself, but he felt his muscles slow and his eyes droop, and suddenly he couldn't do anything at all. Beside him, he felt rather than heard Cloud's struggles similarly subside.

Alexandra stepped forward, light blossoming from her torso, a smirk on her face. She looked worse for the wear, and she looked substantially thinner than before, her life-force diminished, but she clearly had them at a disadvantage. "That was far too easy. All I had to do was trail a small portion of my JENOVA-disease fluid along the ceiling after you two, and once you got paranoid enough you fired off both your blasts at what amounted to less than five percent of my remaining life-force. And now I have both of you." She held up a hand, out of which sprouted several dozen strands of fluid that arced over to Vincent's and Cloud's heads. "I'll be taking you to the North Crater now… and I suspect there'll be a commendation for me in it, too. Come on, then."

She breezed past the both of them, heading deeper into the cave, and Cloud moved to follow her, but Vincent stood stock-still. Alexandra stopped and whirled around, anger on her face. "Stubborn man! Don't make me use more force!" Her eyes flashed and the electrical current she was sending through the strands of fluid increased to the point where it could be seen coursing through the air.

Vincent still didn't twitch.

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?" Alexandra screamed at him, losing all pretension of civility. "I HAVE COMPLETE CONTROL OF YOUR BODY! WHY AREN'T YOU _MOVING?_ "

Vincent's head slowly turned to look at Alexandra, and his gaze met her eyes, but it wasn't Vincent she saw staring back at her.

" **You have control of Vincent Valentine's body,"** he said, his voice an impossibly deep growl. **"But you do not have control of** _ **me.**_ **"**

Dark energy coursed out of Vincent and surrounded him in a perfect sphere of swirling power. It dissipated a moment later, and where Vincent had been standing was a huge, slavering monster.

Its head was lupine, with a long snout full of sharp canine teeth, and its baleful yellow eyes glared at Alexandra. Twin horns sprouted from a head covered in long, spiky white hair. The beast's body was humanoid, lean with muscle and covered in short bluish-black fur. It wore Vincent's red cloak around its waist, and the rest of his black clothing was short and barely covered its limbs and torso.

"Who…?" Alexandra swore.

The beast snarled and laughed. **"I am Galian. Vincent Valentine doesn't like to think about me much. My other cellmates are all gone, now. Chaos returned to the Planet, and Hellmasker and Death Gigas chose to go with him, but I stayed."** Galian bared his teeth in a bestial grin. **"I like it here."**

He rushed forward, blazing energy surging along his claws. Alexandra screamed and threw herself away from Galian, but not before he managed to score her with a pair of quick slashes that literally melted her where they landed, spraying boiling JENOVA-disease fluid everywhere. "KILL HIM!" she shrieked at Cloud, who turned just in time to run straight into a smashing blow from Galian that threw him into the wall and dropped him to the ground.

" **You're a lucky one,"** Galian said to Cloud even as he advanced on Alexandra. **"You're too useful alive for me to kill. Be thankful."** He leered at Alexandra and went on, **"You, however…"**

Alexandra screamed and sent what had to be a hundred strands of fluid shooting into Galina's head, but he laughed and slashed them to bits even after they pierced his skull. **"Stupid bitch. My mind is completely unlike a human's. You have no idea how to manipulate me. I, on the other hand, know exactly how to wipe you out of existence."**

He closed in on Alexandra – claws glowing with power – and roared, a sound that was impossibly loud in the narrow confines of the cave. Alexandra turned and tried to run, but Galian pounced on her and slashed at her over and over again, his claws rending her into bubbling bits of fluid that he then bombarded with energy blasts.

Within a minute, there was nothing left of Alexandra Nueva except some burn marks and a few stray tendrils of fluid still stuck in Cloud's head. The tendrils quickly turned to dust and dissipated.

Galian threw back his head and roared in triumph. **"You see, Vincent? I don't understand why you keep me locked up in your head all the time. You should let me come out more often!"**

The beast suddenly stiffened and said, in Vincent's voice, "This time, there wasn't anything I could do. You know why I don't like bringing you out."

" **You damn fool! If you'd just – no! Stop that! STOP IT, DAMN YOU!"** Galian clutched at his head as dark energy surged up around him, engulfed him, and dissipated to reveal Vincent standing where the beast had been, looking utterly drained.

He turned to Cloud and stumbled over to his friend. "Cloud. Are you all right?"

"Ugh," Cloud said, rolling over. "My head feels like it was used as a pincushion." He rubbed at his eyes and asked, "What just happened?"

Vincent's mouth twisted into a grimace. "Galian. He got out."

"What? I thought your inner demons left when you got Chaos out of your system."

"Hellmasker and Death Gigas did. Galian liked seeing the world too much." Vincent shook his head as he helped Cloud to his feet. "I don't like letting him out. Galian… he used to be a mindless beast, some kind of malevolent spirit that hung on to Chaos's power, but now that Chaos is gone, over the years, Galian has become intelligent and developed a fairly horrible personality. I keep him locked inside my mind and never let him come out if I can help it."

"I see." Cloud picked up the First Tsurugi and put it back in its harness. "How'd he manage to get out?"

"My transformations were always partly based on physical processes and partly based on magic. I can't explain it very well, but as long as I'm able to keep complete control of my body, Galian can never overcome my mind and force a transformation. However, since Alexandra had paralyzed me, Galian managed to assert himself and get around her block to start the transformation. It was just her bad luck that she didn't know he was still in my head."

"For some reason, I can't feel sorry for her," Cloud said. "I think it might have something to do with the fact that she punched a bunch of openings into my skull."

"Agreed," Vincent said. "We should hit ourselves with a bit of Cure magic to make sure that nothing comes of having airholes drilled in our heads. I –" He suddenly stopped and said, "Oh, no."

"What?" Cloud asked.

"The gliders," Vincent said.

Cloud didn't need to hear anything else. Both of them took off for the cave entrance as fast as they could, praying that Alexandra hadn't been smart enough to ensure that they couldn't get off the island if she failed to subdue them.

They got outside just as the sky was beginning to slowly lighten and display a predawn glow. It was light enough outside to see that their gliders, which they had left carefully folded up a short distance outside the mouth of the cave, had been pulled apart and utterly destroyed.

"Shit," Vincent said, very quietly.

"Let's not panic," Cloud said. "Just a few minutes ago, when Alexandra thought she'd won and was going to take us back to the North Crater, she started moving deeper into the cave rather than back out of it. There must be something down there that she was going to use for transportation."

"All right," Vincent said. "You have a point. Hopefully she wasn't expecting us to grow wings and fly."

They headed back into the cave, packing up the rest of their supplies. If there was indeed some mode of transportation waiting in the depths of the cave that would take them to the North Crater, it made sense to bring down the rest of their equipment with them. Taking two trips would only cost them precious time.

They walked through the cave for miles. It was nearly half an hour before Vincent stopped and said, "Do you hear that?"

Cloud stopped and shook his head. "Hear what?"

"Fresh air."

"How do you hear fresh air?"

"I can hear the sound of a breeze. You can probably hear it too if you just stop breathing and listen very hard."

Cloud shrugged and stopped breathing. As soon as he did, he became distinctly aware of a very gentle sound, almost a rustle, far off in the distance. "You're right," he murmured. "But there wouldn't be a breeze down here unless…"

They hurried forward, wondering what might lie ahead, until they stumbled into a massive chamber, obviously of natural origin. Its ceiling was at least a hundred feet high, and its circumference perhaps twice that. One whole side of the chamber was open to what used to be ocean – it was essentially a giant hole in the side of the island. In the center of the chamber was a sleek black helicopter.

"I'd say that'll probably beat Materia Gliding any day of the week," Cloud said.

"It'll certainly serve to get us off of this island, but if we want a return flight guaranteed we'll only want to take it as far as the Northern Continent and then hide it someplace," Vincent said. "If we take it in too close, they'll shoot it down or we'll have to put down someplace that won't be easy to return to."

"I guess that's a good point. For right now, I'm still dead tired."

"You can sleep on the way," Vincent said. "It'll still take a few hours to get to the Northern Continent, even in this helicopter, and I can fly it. I don't need to sleep as much as you do, anyway."

Cloud gave a relieved sigh. "Glad that's settled. For a little while there I thought we were never going to get off of this damn island."

Vincent smiled humorlessly. "Let's hope we aren't soon wishing for that to have been the case."

* * *

The helicopter ride from the island to the Northern Continent proper was boring and uneventful. Cloud spent the entire time asleep despite the noise the craft made, while Vincent concentrated on piloting and planning ahead.

They would ideally want to find a secluded place to put the 'copter down, preferably one that hadn't seen obvious use by the Immaculate Swords. Scanning his memory for a list of locations on the Northern Continent, Vincent finally settled on one that he was sure hadn't been visited in more than fifty years.

Cloud woke to see snow-capped mountains outside his window, and he gasped. "Are we…?"

"We're above the Northern Continent now," Vincent confirmed. "The pole of the Planet here is skewed far enough away from the sun that it's in a kind of eternal twilight, meaning the temperatures never get above freezing. This is the only place left in the world where there's free-standing, pure water."

"How does everyone get water if they don't come here?" Cloud asked.

"There are various devices that we've developed which allow us to suck the moisture right out of the air and store it for drinking and agricultural use," Vincent explained. "It's not a pretty existence, but we get by. The alternative is either making constant trips up here to bring back water or living here, and it's impossible to grow crops or raise livestock in conditions like these. That's why the population stays on the Western and Central continents, even if conditions are harsh and life is hard."

"I see." Cloud looked at the snow again and grinned. "It feels like it's been so long since I saw snow."

"Living on the Central Continent, you tend to feel that way even if you were up here the day before," Vincent agreed.

"It's not cold enough up here to bother me because of my JENOVA and mako enhancements, but are you going to be okay?"

"I don't feel heat or cold," Vincent said. "Not unless you start going up into temperatures that are incompatible with life."

"I see." Cloud stretched and asked, "When are we putting down?"

"Soon. Just a couple minutes to go before we reach our destination."

"And where's that?"

"Modeoheim."

Cloud froze and his face became a mask for a moment before he asked, "You know about Modeoheim?"

"An old Shin-Ra outpost turned small settlement," Vincent replied. "It was abandoned around the time of the Shin-Ra-Wutai war. You, Zack, and Tseng chased Genesis there after he deserted from SOLDIER. It hasn't been used by anyone since."

Cloud looked back out the window and his expression became a contemplative mask. "How do you know all this?"

"Tseng once told me about it," Vincent said. "Quite a while ago."

"It was the first time I met Zack," Cloud said, his tone nostalgic. "There was something about him from minute one… this energy, this positivism, that seemed just boundless. I remember that I really admired him." He trailed off into silence for a moment and then said, "What do you think they did with his clone?"

Vincent frowned and shook his head as he brought the helicopter in for a landing in the deserted valley that was Modeoheim. "I have no idea. I wish Project Revelations had kept more information about their plan in that file Reeve managed to retrieve. As it is, we're just going to have to assume that the Immaculate Swords changed the clone into one of them – injected him with JENOVA cells and then exposed him to the disease. If we end up fighting him…"

"Don't worry about that," Cloud said. "I know it's not really Zack, even if he looks and even acts like him. I'm not going to let my memories get in the way of doing what needs to be done."

"Good." Vincent brought the chopper down for a landing in Modeoheim, which was by now nothing more than a snowy valley filled with debris that had been picked through a million times before. The helicopter's fuel gauge was still hovering at more than half-full, so Vincent imagined that they should easily be able to make the rendezvous point and perhaps even meet the Protectorate's army beforehand. "This is where I think it's going to get a lot more difficult. Are you ready, Cloud?"

Cloud swung his pack onto his back next to the First Tsurugi's harness. "Ready as I'm ever going to be."

They jumped out of the helicopter and landed knee-deep in snow. Cloud felt the cold begin to creep in through his thin clothing, and he focused deep within himself until he no longer felt the freezing conditions.

Then he started after Vincent.

* * *

The two of them traveled relatively quickly, considering the poor conditions. Modeoheim was a short distance south of Icicle Inn, so they made it there within the space of half a day. Icicle Inn itself had been abandoned long ago, and the only remnants of a town were rubble and debris mostly buried in snow.

The trek down to the Great Glacier was long and unpleasant, taking the better part of a day to negotiate the twisting and steep mountain passes. By comparison, when they finally reached the Great Glacier it was a relief to just walk across a somewhat flat surface.

They stayed for a brief hour at the hot springs, warming themselves and checking their equipment. Everything needed to be in order when they climbed Gaea's Cliff, and Cloud wasn't interested in having the First Tsurugi slip out of its harness to fall a thousand feet at a critical moment.

The Cliff was only a short distance away after they left the hot springs; they rested at its base for the night, starting a fire with what little fuel they had on them and hoping that nobody would spot it in the perpetual twilight of the Northern Continent. Cloud pulled off his boots and stuck his feet close to the fire, hoping that he would get feeling back in them eventually.

Vincent, as he'd said he would be, didn't look perturbed in the slightest by the freezing weather. He merely pulled his cloak a bit more closely about him and said, "Go ahead and sleep, Cloud. At this rate, I won't need to for another few weeks, and we should always have somebody on watch now that we're this close to the North Crater."

"Fine by me," Cloud said. "Wake me up if you change your mind about not needing to sleep." He pulled his sleeping roll out of his pack and laid it out on the snow, laid down on it, pulled a blanket over himself, and was asleep in minutes.

Vincent watched the fire burn and occasionally looked up at the looming cliff above them. It was substantially shorter than it used to be – the Great Glacier had grown much larger since the Fall – but climbing it was still going to be an ordeal. He tried to find a comfortable spot on the cliff to rest his back against and started letting his mind drift. He could stare at a wall for hours and not be bored; it was a talent he'd learned when he'd realized that he would never run out of time.

Hours passed, and he decided that it couldn't hurt to clean Cerberus. Moving quietly to ensure that he didn't wake Cloud, he pulled his tools out of his pack, laid a thick blanket down on the snow to provide a workspace, and began to disassemble the gun.

This required more manual dexterity than he was capable of accomplishing while he was wearing his gauntlet, so he pulled the thing off of his arm and laid it carefully down on the blanket above the gun and the tools. He looked at it for a long moment memories beginning to surface, and then moved to concentrate on Cerberus. The past continued to come back to him as he worked on cleaning his gun, and he heard Yuffie's voice as though she was sitting right next to him.

" _Vince, I don't understand why you feel like you have to wear that thing all the time. It's kind of scary."_

" _I don't see a problem with that."_

" _I do. You're trying to get over being an antisocial vampire and relate to people, right?"_

" _I am not a vampire."_

" _Whatever. Let me give you some advice: it's not gonna be easy relating to people if you walk around wearing that gauntlet all the time. They're gonna constantly stare at it and be all like, 'I'm afraid he's going to rip me open and bleed me out with that thing if I look at him wrong.'"_

" _That doesn't concern me."_

" _Why not?"_

" _Because the kind of people who would think that aren't the kind of people I would like to associate with. You and everyone else who knows me don't find it perturbing, do you?"_

"…"

" _Yuffie, is there something you're not telling me about my gauntlet?"_

" _No!"_

"…"

" _Okay, well. Maybe. Look, it's nothing. Forget I even brought it up."_

" _You know you can tell me anything, Yuffie. I promised that no matter what it was, I would listen to you."_

"… _Fine. I just wish you wouldn't wear it because it kind of scares me whenever you hug me, okay?"_

" _You know I wouldn't accidentally hurt you. Just because I'm used to wearing it doesn't mean that I'm going to forget that it's dangerous and I could injure someone with it."_

" _Vince. I know all that. I still get a little scared sometimes. Especially when you get back from a long month of Inquisitions, fall into bed with your clothes on, and forget to take it off."_

" _That only happened once or twice."_

" _Look, I'm willing to be reasonable if you'd just tell me why you insist on wearing that damn thing!"_

"…"

" _Don't give me that look, Vince. Alright, maybe that was a bit harsh, but still…"_

" _I wear it because it's really all that I have left."_

" _What?"_

" _Chaos is gone, returned to the Planet. Hellmasker and Death Gigas went with him. Galian remained behind, but without the other three also inhabiting my mind it's a trivial matter for me to keep him restrained and quiet. I've had to have my cloak refurbished so many times that I doubt any part of it is the original I woke up wearing so many years ago. This gauntlet is the only thing I have left to make me remember, immediately and without having to try, what it was like to wake up and not recognize myself, to come back to consciousness and feel like a complete stranger, a monster, in my own body."_

" _Well, that's really deep and everything, Vince, but why would you need to remember? If I were in your position, I think I'd want to forget everything that happened."_

" _But if I forget all of that, then there's no point to any of it. I was a fool, I let misplaced emotions and delusions of destiny get in the way of rational thinking, and this body, what I've become, are the result. I don't know where the gauntlet came from, but as long as I have the will to live I'll keep wearing it. I might take it off when I need both hands for something delicate, or when I come to bed with you, but I will never abandon it, because it marks when I became, though I didn't know it at the time, a better person."_

The conversation faded into faint recollections of the way her body had felt when she pressed herself against him, the softness of her lips, and the smell of her hair. Vincent sighed and finished the work on Cerberus. He twirled the handgun around his finger as though it weighed nothing and replaced it in its holster before gathering up his tools and beginning to replace them in his pack.

He missed Yuffie, at times. Still, he felt as though he had done the right thing. The memories were bittersweet, and there were occasional moments when Yuffie would meet his eyes and he would feel a spark shoot between them, but the alternative was much worse than this. He knew it was.

"Cloud," he said. "It's been six hours. Time to get going."

"All right," Cloud said, burrowing out from beneath the blanket and the thin layer of snow that had accumulated over it. He gave himself a quick once-over with a small flame from his Fire Materia, the heat drying his clothes but not damaging them or burning his skin. Magical flame was truly useful at times. "Ready to go?"

"Of course," Vincent replied. He looked up at the cliff, remembering the first time that he and Yuffie had climbed it in pursuit of Sephiroth. She had been so young, then…

He shook himself out of his reverie and looked at Cloud. It was time to focus on the present.

"After you," he said.


	18. Chapter 18

Cloud hauled himself up onto solid ground and lay there panting for a moment, his arms and legs aching.

"Now I see," he panted, "why we took the climb in stages last time."

Vincent lightly pulled himself up off of the cliff and stretched a little bit. "Don't tell me you're _tired._ "

"Hold on, I'm getting a call." Cloud mimed putting a phone to his ear. "It's the assholes of the world, Vincent. They want you to be their leader."

"Wow, Cloud, is that a sense of humor? I _thought_ you'd grown an extra body part since I last saw you."

Cloud grinned in spite of himself and got wearily to his feet. "You certainly learned to banter, Vincent."

Vincent's smile slipped somewhat and he murmured, "Yuffie taught me, mostly."

"Ah." Cloud stretched his aching muscles and let the silence continue for a bit until he no longer felt as though his lungs were on fire. He looked ahead of them and saw the rocky ridge that bordered the Whirlwind Maze. "So, is the Whirlwind Maze as bad as I remember it being?"

"The Whirlwind Maze doesn't exist any longer," Vincent replied. "It's one massive glacier covering everything from here on out – or at least it used to be before Reeve dropped a satellite on it. There's no telling what's ahead of us at this point, so just be on your guard."

"Sure thing." The two men cautiously moved toward the ridge and looked over it.

Nothing but smooth, featureless ice greeted their gaze. The glacier stretched off into the distance and over the horizon, past their ability to see in the eternal, snowy twilight. If Cloud squinted and angled his head a bit, he could tell that the ice sloped gradually downward. "So this is the glacier on top of the North Crater, huh?"

"Indeed," Vincent replied. "We're still at least fifty miles away from the Crater proper. I imagine the damage will start to be evident once we get closer." He eyed the sky. "The climb took about eight hours, and my internal clock tells me it was morning when we started. We should go at least another four to six hours before we rest for the night."

Cloud sighed and started trudging in the direction of the Crater. "This is exactly what my instructor in the Shin-Ra Corps told me war was like. Long stretches of mind-numbing boredom punctuated by brief moments of excitement and terror."

"Hopefully it's been much the same for Red XIII," Vincent observed. "At least it's safe to assume that he's alive."

"Is it?"

"That Alexandra woman said she knew we'd come for 'our companion.' That intimates that he's still alive and being held by the Immaculate Swords in the Crater or near it."

"Good point. I was a little too busy trying not to die to pay attention to what she was saying."

"When you do my job for as long as I have, you learn to multitask." Vincent stared at the horizon, willing it to close with them faster and not seeing any results. "Just be ready at all times for an attack. The last three times we've clashed with these people, we've been lucky. Renbato was obviously just a stop-gap to keep us from discovering Operation Worst Case, and an expendable one at that. You heard what Alexandra said about Barachiel not being a terribly useful asset, so they must have viewed him as somewhat expendable too. Finally, Alexandra herself was obviously arrogant and thought too highly of her own abilities, otherwise they wouldn't have let her go out by herself. The Immaculate Swords waiting for us in the crater are obviously going to be their best fighters, not replaceable members that they can easily afford to lose."

"I'll keep it in mind." Cloud was also staring at the horizon, clearly displeased by how slowly they were approaching it. "So, how did a glacier form over the North Crater? I can't imagine that snow and ice filled the thing in and then piled on top of that."

"It started at the outside and worked its way in, essentially," Vincent replied. "The crater itself is undoubtedly very similar to the way it was when we delved into it fifty years ago. Even if water and ice had gotten into it – and I'm sure they did – it's far too deep into the Planet's crust to be as cold as the exterior. You remember how hot it was down there."

"Makes sense, I suppose." Cloud sighed and worked at a crick in his neck that had been bothering him all day. "What's the plan when we get there? Get in, find and free Red XIII, and get out?"

"Probably. We'll have to play it by ear, but I think generally speaking we'll want to avoid confrontation. Lower-ranking members of the Immaculate Swords are enormously powerful in their own right, as we've seen, and I'm sure the higher-ups are even worse. Then add in the fact that we might end up fighting more than one of them at once…"

"What if Alexandra was lying and Red XIII is actually dead?"

"If that's the case, we get out as fast as we can and take as few risks as possible in doing so. We shouldn't take unnecessary risks anyway, but in that case it becomes especially important that we both make it out alive – otherwise we'll have gone on this journey completely in vain."

"Agreed." Cloud stared into the distance and kept walking, one foot in front of the other, and tried not to think any more about the possibility of Red XIII being dead. It was intensely upsetting to him, especially considering that the beast was one of the few good friends he had left in an almost totally alien world.

Just as he was thinking this, something on the glacier coalesced out of the snow and fog, appearing almost directly in front of the two of them. Cloud stopped and reached for the First Tsurugi, but relaxed when he realized that they were simply looking at a crashed scout ship.

Then he came to his senses and exclaimed, "Vincent!"

"I know!" Vincent replied, as close to excited as he ever got. The two of them rushed forward and did a brief but thorough investigation of the craft.

It had definitely been Red XIII's, if the two mechanical arms that had been abandoned in the cockpit were any indication. Half of the vehicle's right wing was missing, and it wasn't as though it had been blown away. The metal instead looked like it had been cut by an impossibly sharp sword, a perfect edge that was actually sharp itself.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Cloud asked, looking at the damage.

"Definitely an attack by one of the Immaculate Swords," Vincent replied. "Only someone with their kind of power could have done this." He moved to the arms and inspected them. "Looks like they were taken off of him, not left by him. He must have been accosted and captured the second he crashed." He lifted one up and looked at it intently.

"What are you doing?"

"I recall Red XIII saying that he'd programmed a limited sensitivity to pressure into these to simulate the sensation of touch. He can feel what they're doing without looking thanks to the tech Reeve shared with him, regardless of whether or not he's actually wearing them. If I can just…" Vincent trailed off, concentrating intently, and sent a tiny jolt of electricity along the arm. It stiffened for a second and then went slack again. "Got it." He repeated the tiny jolt, except this time he sustained it, giving the arm a power source. "Red XIII, wherever he is, should be able to feel this – like a kind of phantom limb." He tapped the arm several dozen times in staggered beats, which Cloud assumed to be some kind of code.

The arm suddenly jerked and began tapping something out on the ruined dashboard of the scout transport in response to Vincent's message. Vincent listened rather than watched, seeming almost hypnotized, for nearly a minute before the arm stopped tapping and went limp in his hands again. He tapped it several more times before he stopped and released the arm, ceasing to supply it with power.

"Red XIII's alive," Cloud said excitedly. "What did he say to you?"

"He's inside the Crater," Vincent replied. "The satellite did quite a bit of damage to the glacier, but the Immaculate Swords' operations are deeper underground and they weren't really damaged. He's in a makeshift holding cell about a mile below the surface. His guards are light. If we're stealthy we should be able to get him out."

Cloud nodded. "There's no time to waste, then. We have to hurry."

"Agreed," Vincent said. "I don't think that the Immaculate Swords are going to do Red XIII any harm after all this time, but we can't be sure of that. Let's go."

The two men started back in the direction of the crater, their steps charged with a new clarity of purpose. An idea struck Cloud and he said, "We need to be extra careful."

"I agree on principle," Vincent said. "However, I'd like to know why you think this."

"Red XIII said that he's in a makeshift holding cell with light security. He didn't mention other prisoners or why they might be keeping him alive. Alexandra said that the other members of the Immaculate Swords didn't think we'd be coming after him, that she was the only one who'd deduced it, but why would they be keeping him in such an easily accessible place if they didn't want us to find him? I think they let her believe she was being a maverick and goaded her into acting on her own, either to get rid of her or confirm with her death that we were coming – maybe both."

Vincent nodded. "In all likelihood, Cloud, you're right. We're probably walking into an enormous trap even as we speak, one designed specifically to catch us – or at least you – without killing us so the Immaculate Swords can use you to replace Barachiel." He pulled Cerberus from its holster and made sure it was loaded. "Any second thoughts?"

Cloud laughed softly. "Did you forget who you were talking to or something, Vincent?"

"I must have. Sorry."

"So, what's our next move?"

Vincent smiled. "What else could it be? We spring the trap."

* * *

The North Crater stretched out before them.

The glacier had been rent asunder by the satellite's impact, leaving an enormous, gaping hole in the earth. Steam rose out of the crater in a cloud so thick that it was impossible to see anything through it.

"That's unpleasant-looking," Cloud murmured.

"It must be ten miles across," Vincent said. "The impact did a lot of damage." He pulled the Peacekeeper off of his back, checked it, and started toward the edge. "Shall we?"

Cloud started after Vincent, beginning a careful climb down the side of the crater. The sensation of gravel and rock felt strange under his feet after having walked across ice and snow for so long.

The side turned abruptly into a sheer drop, one that was impossible to negotiate. Cloud threw his gaze around and saw, a short distance away, an opening in the rock that led into subterranean tunnels. "Over there," he said. "That's how we got into the crater before." They made for the opening, moving carefully along the steep side of the crater.

Cloud threw himself inside and dropped fifteen or so feet, landing in a crouch. He looked quickly around in the almost complete darkness, hand on the First Tsurugi's hilt. The tunnels were echoing and empty. Vincent landed next to Cloud, the Peacekeeper at the ready. "Keep close," he whispered. "You watch our rear and I'll watch our front."

"Sounds good," Cloud whispered back, drawing the First Tsurugi. He lit a small flame with his Fire Materia and looked intently at the tunnel as they proceeded through it. It sloped sharply downward, descending into the bowels of the earth.

"This whole thing makes me nervous," Vincent said under his breath after about five minutes of careful travel.

"You seemed pretty keen on coming down here and springing the trap only an hour ago," Cloud murmured.

"Don't get me wrong, I still think it's a good idea." Vincent came to a fork in the tunnel and arbitrarily decided to go left. "But I'm still nervous. How deep down are the Immaculate Swords operating, anyway?"

"I guess you have a point, but –" Cloud cut himself off as something behind them moved just outside of the firelight's reach. "Who's there?" he demanded.

The thing responded by lashing out with an impossibly quick blow, smashing Cloud across the chest and bowling him into Vincent. Both of them were sent sprawling down the corridor, unable to halt their progress or momentum, until the corridor vanished completely and they fell.

They hit flat, rocky ground nearly thirty feet below with a tremendous crash. Cloud groaned and opened his eyes, which he had instinctively squeezed shut during the long fall.

Standing over him was a hunched, deathly pale figure, a boy who couldn't be older than fifteen. He had pale blue eyes that were wide and staring; Cloud looked at him for a good three seconds and the boy never blinked once. His nose and mouth were small, and his cheekbones protruded sharply from his face, giving him a gaunt, haunted look. His hair was a thick, stringy, matted mass of black that hung over his brow and down to his neck. He wore the same black jumpsuit as all the other Immaculate Swords that Cloud had seen. His posture was strange – his legs were spread to about shoulder width and braced there while he let his torso sag downward as though he were carrying an enormously heavy load. His arms hung limply in front of him, and he had to crane his head in order to be able to see straight ahead of him.

Vincent wasn't nearly as surprised as Cloud. While the other man stared in shock at the boy, Vincent untangled himself from Cloud, swung the Peacemaker around, and sighted in on the boy's head.

As he was about to squeeze the trigger, however, something yanked the gun right out of his grip. He swore and tried to hold onto it, but the Peacemaker was gone, sailing away as though of its own accord through the air until another figure reached out a black-gloved hand and caught it.

"Please refrain from making any more sudden moves around Gabriel," a smooth, cultured voice issued from the darkness. "They frighten him."

"Who's there?" Vincent demanded. He swept his gaze around the room that he and Cloud now found themselves in. They had landed in a small natural cavern littered with several white phosphorescent crystals that shed a faint light. There was a single passage out, on the far side of the cavern, and it was drenched in shadows.

The hand extending from the darkness moved forward and was revealed to belong to a man, standing around six feet tall. He had emerald-green eyes underneath thick brown eyebrows and sported a neat goatee and moustache of the same color. His nose was angular and somewhat pointed, and his lips were very pale, almost indistinguishable from the rest of his face, which was almost as pale as the boy's. His straight brown hair was gathered into a topknot at the crown of his skull, and from there it hung down to end at the level of his ears. He also wore a black jumpsuit, and his posture was straight, but not ramrod-straight – he moved with a fluid grace that seemed almost unnatural.

"I am Uriel," he continued. His voice was soft and precise without seeming clipped. "Gabriel and I are the Second and Fourth Angels, respectively."

Cloud slowly got to his feet, using exaggeratedly slow movements to make sure he didn't alarm the boy. Gabriel's eyes stayed locked on Cloud's, still not blinking, and as Cloud stood up to his full height Gabriel's head tilted upward until he stopped and continued to stare.

"I think he may like you, Cloud Strife," Uriel said, sounding somewhat amused. "He doesn't do that with everyone, you know."

"I'm flattered," Cloud said, his tone making it clear that he was anything but. "What do you want with us?"

"That's the question we were going to ask the two of you," Uriel replied. "What do you want with us? Why are you here?"

"You shouldn't play dumb," Vincent said, also getting to his feet. "You're holding our companion, Red XIII. We came to get him back."

"Red XIII… you mean the red-furred creature? He hasn't said a word since we found him and gave him our hospitality. So that's his name."

"I hardly think that a prison cell counts as hospitality."

"You're making some broad assumptions, Vincent Valentine," Uriel said. "Why would you think that we were keeping him in a cell? We gave him one of the guest rooms in our complex and have only insisted that he remain inside it for his own safety."

"Sounds like a cell to me."

"There's no need for such hostility. We don't want to fight you, after all."

"Really?" Cloud asked. "You sent Renbato Wŭgerén to hunt us down and kill us in Deepground. You caused an outbreak in New Corel, killing dozens, just to lure Vincent and me there, and once we showed up Barachiel did his best to kill me. Then we were ambushed in our sleep by Alexandra Nueva, who was ready to kill the both of us unless we let her take over our minds."

"I'm sure you've already deduced this, but those three you mention were nothing to us," Uriel said, beginning to pace in a wide circle around the three of them. "Renbato was a recent recruit from Wutai, a young bandit who tried to rob one of our agents when he had business there. We saw potential in him and uplifted him, but he proved troublesome to control, so we sent him on what was surely a suicide mission.

"As for Barachiel, I've no doubt that Alexandra – well. Alexandra may have been one of the originally uplifted, but she was a shallow fool, only concerned with advancing her own status in the world and dominating anyone who got in her way. She also had a troublesome tendency to taunt people she fought by telling them details about our plans that we would have preferred to remain secret. Therefore, we let her believe that she was alone in thinking you would be coming for your beast friend. I pretended to be sympathetic to her cause, if not agreed on its veracity, and lent her the helicopter you obviously took from her on the condition that she send me a message once a day until she found you. She then eagerly set out to intercept you, thereby serving as a sort of warning bell for your arrival.

"And as I was going to say, I've no doubt that Alexandra mouthed off to you about how Barachiel was beginning to irritate the rest of the Angels with his constant thirst for battle and bloodshed. He never ceased complaining about how he was bored and never saw any sort of action… so we gave him exactly what he wanted." Uriel's eyes glittered in the darkness and he murmured, "A shame he couldn't handle it when push came to shove."

"So your organization kills off its own members by sending them on tasks they can't possibly achieve," Vincent said. "That's despicable."

"It is natural selection," Uriel replied, emphasizing the last two words. "The superior continue to live and build upon the bodies of the inferior. That is the entire philosophy of the Immaculate Swords."

"You're a group of rebels who figured out the connection between JENOVA cells and the disease," Vincent shot back. "You call yourselves the Immaculate Swords, name your top seven members the Angels, and talk about natural selection in a vain attempt to try to give yourselves some kind of authenticity."

"You're no better than a bunch of super-powered thugs," Cloud added quietly.

"That's quite enough," Uriel said, still entirely calm. "We are offering you our hospitality and even the chance to better yourselves and join us in the next step for humanity. We only do this for people who have proven themselves to be truly exceptional, to be absolutely superior to their peers. Allow us to conduct you through the complex we've built here and show you our ultimate goal. I am sure that once we have done this you will see the absolute necessity of our cause and be persuaded, just as I was."

"You joined this insane cult out of your own free will, huh?" Cloud asked. "What about him?" He jerked his head at Gabriel, who still hadn't blinked and still hadn't taken his eyes off of Cloud's.

"Gabriel is, after the First Angel, the first of the new generation of superior beings," Uriel replied. "Though he is still but an adolescent, his power far exceeds any of ours. I am the Fourth Angel and he is the Second, but the gap between myself and Gabriel is like the gap between a stream and a river."

Cloud jerked and looked down to see that Gabriel, his eyes still fixed on Cloud's, had moved closer and begun to nuzzle his face against Cloud's hand. Uriel looked down as well and he gave a smile full of white teeth. "Scratch his head, Cloud Strife. He likes that."

"You're completely psycho," Cloud said.

"Be that way if you feel you must," Uriel sighed, the smile still plastered on his face. "Regardless, you are coming with us to see what we have accomplished. Then you will make your decision – whether to join us, or whether to die." His toothy smile widened and he started walking back toward the tunnel from which he'd entered. "Shall we?"

Vincent and Cloud exchanged a look, and then they followed Uriel into the darkness.


	19. Chapter 19

The tunnel that Uriel led them through sloped sharply downward after a few hundred feet. It continued in that manner for perhaps half a mile that they walked in complete darkness, Cloud stumbling along with one hand on Vincent's shoulder to make sure he didn't bash his head on something. For his part, Vincent could see just fine, and he assumed that Uriel and Gabriel could, too. Uriel walked with evenly measured steps, his feet moving in an almost mechanically precise manner, his head never moving, his hands clasped behind his back. Gabriel shuffled more than he walked, moving in an erratically zigzagging pattern while staying close to Cloud, who he had apparently taken an instant liking to.

Cloud slowly became aware that the tunnel was getting lighter. It continued to do so for almost thirty seconds before they rounded one last bend and the crater itself was revealed.

They stood on a rocky outcropping that jutted from the sheer sides of the crater, overlooking a huge, labyrinthine metal construct that was built into the very living rock of the Planet. Large, enclosed chambers were joined together by multiple long tubes that served to move people between rooms. Extruding from the wall about a hundred feet above them were a series of landing platforms that were impossible to see from the surface, due to the steam rising up from the bowels of the crater. The base extended deep into the earth, inextricably enmeshed with the raw and strange environments of the crater. Looking far enough down, Cloud could see metal enclosures rising up out of the water of the swampy part of the crater, and miniature reactors that had been built over wellsprings of mako to power the entire structure.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Uriel asked, no small amount of pride detectable in his voice. "We've been building it down here for more than a decade. It took quite a beating when your Protectorate dropped that WRO satellite on the glacier above us, but we had prepared for such an eventuality, and repairs took less than a day."

"We're so thrilled for you," Cloud said.

"Hmph. Follow me." Uriel led them down a small path that had been carved out of the crater wall. It terminated directly adjacent to a metal enclosure that boasted a large door. Uriel walked up to the door, put his eyes up to a small scanner next to it, and the door opened when it positively identified his retinal scan.

"It doesn't make much sense to use a retinal scanner when all of you are shapeshifters by nature," Vincent said.

"Our bodies naturally assume what you might call an ego image, Vincent Valentine. We assert that we look a certain way, that there is a face and a body that is identified with who we are, and we unconsciously form specific details of these things – unique retinas, fingerprints, all the identifying characteristics that a human being possesses. We even have organs, bones, muscles, arteries, veins, and blood to flow through these things, despite the fact that we don't need any of them. It's not a conscious decision to manifest these things; our subconscious, which instinctively knows how we are supposed to work, makes them form."

"Interesting." They followed Uriel through the door and found that the interiors of the enclosures were bare, pitted metal, made uncomfortably hot by their placement within the crater.

"I apologize for any discomfort you may feel," Uriel said. "We do not react to heat as humans do. Not any longer."

They stepped into one of the pipes connecting the enclosure to the rest of the base and proceeded on their way. Cloud kept an eye on Gabriel, who had still not taken his eyes off of Cloud's. The pipe led them to a large enclosure shaped like a flattened disc, out of which multiple pipes extended to many other enclosures. Clearly, this was the hub of the base.

In the disc's center was a large bank of monitoring consoles that displayed video feeds from all throughout the base. A man sat in a chair amidst all of it, constantly switching the views on the monitors. Before Vincent and Cloud could get a good look at him, Uriel said, "This way, this way," and ushered them into another pipe, which led to an elevator that took them straight down for a considerable distance.

"I assume that you'll want to be seeing your friend before we give you a proper tour of the complex," Uriel said, "so I'm taking the liberty of leading you to him so you can spend a few minutes catching up and ask if he wants to join us. While I very much doubt that the process of uplifting will work on his unique species, he is certainly a superior being and we have no issues with his continued existence."

"If we're such superior beings too, why have you been trying to kill us?" Cloud asked.

"We didn't know you were superior until you overcame Barachiel," Uriel replied airily. "Renbato wasn't a fair test of your abilities, after all."

"Oh."

The elevator stopped and deposited them in another hub station. This one seemed much busier than the one up above, with several dozen people moving through it into different tubes and talking to one another. Vincent cast his gaze around and asked, "Have all of these people been… uplifted?"

"Of course not," Uriel replied, moving through the crowd. They gave him a very respectful berth. "These are simple human beings who have been liberated from existence on the Central and Western Continents. We have perhaps two hundred of them here, fulfilling the roles of grunt workers. They do menial labor and similarly uncomplicated tasks. In exchange for their cooperation, when we move against the world they will be permitted to live."

Vincent and Cloud exchanged another glance. "Move against the world?" Cloud asked.

"In time," Uriel replied. "For now, follow me."

* * *

"We will give you ten minutes with your friend," Uriel said to Vincent and Cloud. They stood outside a door labeled with the number 104, after having taken several more elevators deeper down into the complex. "Speak with him and see if you can convince him to be cooperative. If you can, we will do him no harm. However, if he remains obstinate… well. The First Angel is beginning to show doubts about whether or not continuing to extend him our hospitality will benefit us in the long run."

"Understood," Vincent said. "You'll be waiting outside, I trust."

"Of course." Uriel pressed his hand to a flat panel next to the door. There was a chime and the door slid smoothly into the wall. "Gabriel, stay here. Cloud will be right back." The boy looked away from Cloud for the first time since they'd met to return Uriel's gaze. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, and sprawled onto the floor, looking expectantly back toward Cloud.

Vincent and Cloud stepped inside and closed the door behind them. They were in a small but lavishly decorated room. A bed stood in one corner, covered with what had to be a silk bedspread. Along the wall were a wardrobe, a dresser, and a vanity, the last of which sported a large mirror. A door opposite the bed led into what they assumed was the bathroom.

Red XIII was lying on the bed, looking like he was asleep. As soon as they closed the door behind them, he opened his good eye and said, "It's about time."

"Good to see you too," Cloud said. "You're welcome for us traveling all the way up here and getting captured just to save you."

Red XIII made a chuffing noise that they'd long ago learned to recognize as his version of a snort. "They took out my scout craft long before I got close to the crater. One moment I was flying, no problems, and in the next moment my starboard wing was half-gone, like somebody had sliced it straight off. It was all I could do to make a controlled crash-landing."

"What happened after that?" Vincent asked.

"The crash rendered me unconscious. When I woke up, I was in this room, minus my arms. There was a human, or rather what used to be a human, waiting for me to wake up. He called himself Uriel."

"He's the one that caught us, too," Cloud said. "Seems pretty cocky, though. He didn't even take our weapons – after he grabbed Vincent's rifle he gave it back to him."

"I'm fairly sure that he's the one who cut me right out of the sky." Red XIII leaped down off of the bed and padded up to Vincent and Cloud. "He told me, several times over the course of as many days, that if I agreed to cooperate with the Immaculate Swords, I would be allowed to cohabitate the new world they created as a fellow 'superior being.' I never said anything to him, and he told me that you were on your way to come and get me."

"He was right about that much," Vincent muttered. "Have they at least treated you well otherwise?"

"They have. They've brought me food at regular intervals, which is when I could see that they always kept a pair of guards on my door. I haven't been disturbed when I've been asleep, never walked in on while I'm using the bathroom – that leads me to believe that they have monitoring devices so they'll know when I'm awake and unoccupied."

"We saw a bank of consoles that looked like that was their specific purpose," Vincent agreed. "I think it's safe to say every word that we speak is being monitored closely."

"Then I suppose it would be futile to ask if you have any plans as to how we get out of here."

"Not futile, it's just that if we discussed such eventualities they'd know everything we planned." As he spoke, Vincent was scanning the room. His days as a Turk, no matter how long ago they'd been, had taught him quite a few useful things. He picked out three surveillance cameras in the first ten seconds of searching and two more in the next thirty. "Uriel made it fairly clear to Cloud and I that if we don't convince you to cooperate, they're going to kill you. I think we should all go along with this, let him show us what he wants to show us." He left "until an opportunity presents itself" unspoken, but it hung in their air between the three of them.

"Can't hurt to be reasonable," Cloud said, obviously picking up on Vincent's cue. "Worst comes to worst, at least Gabriel likes me, right?"

"If that's what the new generation of superior beings looks like, I'm not sure I want the next generation to come," Vincent muttered. "You must have noticed it, Cloud. He never blinks. I'm not sure I even heard him breathing. He's much further gone than any of the other Immaculate Swords. What could be wrong with him?"

"'Wrong' being a relative term, of course," Red XIII said.

"Of course," Cloud agreed. "I don't know, Vincent. We're just going to have to hope that he's not secretly berserk and waiting for the first opportunity he gets away from Uriel to kill us all."

"You have such a positive outlook sometimes," Vincent sighed. "So we're agreed. We'll let Uriel say his piece, give it careful consideration, and then decide what we want to do next. No matter what happens, however, we have to stick together. Yes?"

"Sounds good to me."

"And to me as well," Red XIII said. "I trust we have a ride."

"I've put it somewhere," Vincent replied. Red XIII nodded, assured that they had a way off of the Northern Continent. "Just trust me and follow my lead."

"Sounds like a plan," Cloud said. He turned around and knocked on the room's door. "Uriel, Red XIII is going to cooperate. You can show us whatever it is you want to show us now."

The door slid open and Uriel greeted them with a grin so wide it looked as though it might jump right off of his face. "Splendid. If you gentles will please accompany me, we can get underway."

They exited the room, the door sliding shut behind them. Gabriel leaped to his feet as soon as Cloud stepped outside and began nuzzling the blonde's hand again. He looked at Red XIII while he was doing this, obviously curious, and tentatively reached out a long, slender finger to poke the beast right on the nose.

Red XIII pulled back a little and growled in spite of himself, and Gabriel withdrew his hand and also growled, the first vocalization that any of them had heard him make. He sounded exactly like a normal teenager imitating an animal – his voice even cracked halfway through the sound.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Cloud sighed.

* * *

"Be honored," Uriel said. "You are about the meet the rest of the Angels."

He, Vincent, Cloud, Red XIII, and Gabriel stood in front of a large door that opened up into a large, dome-shaped enclosure at the very bottom of the Immaculate Swords' base. "This is a rare honor," Uriel continued. "We do not allow many outsiders to see us."

"I can't imagine why," Cloud said.

Uriel gave him a thin smile and then tilted his head to bring his eyes in line with another retinal scanner. It beeped and the door slid soundlessly open to reveal what was unmistakably a council room.

The domed enclosure was ringed with chairs. Directly opposite the door was a large throne – its ornate, regal design meant that it could be nothing else. Seven feet away from either side of the throne was a chair. This was repeated twice more, with four more chairs in the room seven feet apart from one another, the last two chairs being on the same side of the circle as the door and seven feet from the door itself. The room itself was a little longer than thirty feet from one end to the other. There was a dais in the center of the room, depressed about a foot into the floor so anyone who stood there was looking slightly upward at the figures seated on the chairs.

Uriel motioned to Gabriel, and the boy reluctantly shuffled away from Cloud and followed the older man inside. Uriel took a seat in the second chair to the right of the throne, while Gabriel sat in the chair to Uriel's left, placing him directly adjacent to the throne. To be precise, he didn't so much sit as he climbed up onto the chair and crouched there, looking as though he might leap off of it at any moment.

Vincent, Cloud, and Red XIII walked inside and stood on the dais, surveying the people seated around them. All of the chairs save the one directly to the left of the door were occupied by people clad in black jumpsuits. The figure sitting in the throne wore, in addition to his jumpsuit, a dark cloak with a hood that he had up, obscuring his features.

"Uriel," the cloaked figure said. "You have brought them."

"I have," Uriel replied, subservience oozing from his tone.

"Good." The figure waved a hand and said, "We know who you are. We will now introduce ourselves."

The person sitting in the seat to the right of the door stood up to his full height of six and a half feet. "Jegudiel, the Sixth Angel," he said. He was large, with skin so dark it looked like ebony. He was an imposing man, broad-chested and muscular, with a wide-set jaw and heavy features. He was bald and clean-shaven with brown eyes, black eyebrows, lips that seemed to be constantly pressed into a thin line, and slightly pointed ears. "Good to make your acquaintance." He sat back down.

"Selaphiel," an airy voice came from the group's left. The man who had sat in the second chair to the throne's right had risen. "The Fifth Angel." He was a picture of abnormality: his skin was the color of a rainy sky, a dead grey that seemed incompatible with life. His eyes were a brilliant red, a color that made Vincent's look dull by comparison, and his hair was whiter than snow, perfectly straight, and hung down to his waist. He had thick brows of the same color, a long and curving nose, and incredibly thin lips. When he spoke, it was very clear that his tongue was the same color as his skin, and he had a mouthful of long, sharp-filed fangs. His body and limbs were elongated and thin, almost spiderlike in their slenderness; he stood around five and a half feet. "I've heard so much about the two of you recently. And I'm glad to see your companion has decided to be cooperative." He returned to his seat.

Uriel, who the group obviously already knew, didn't budge or say anything. Instead, the person sitting in the chair to the left of the throne rose. "I am Raphael, the Third Angel," she said in a small, quiet voice. She was the shortest of the Immaculate Swords that had introduced themselves, standing at only around five and a quarter feet. Her skin was dark, but not like Jegudiel's; she was light sepia where he was ebony. Her hair was cut very short, to the length a man might wear it, and was a dark blonde. Her eyes were a deep purple, and her features were delicate and beautiful, with high cheekbones and a defined jaw. Her frame was slight, her hips even with her shoulders in width and her breasts small. She seemed almost fragile, and even Vincent couldn't tell if it was entirely an act.

"Pleased to meet you," she finished, sitting back down.

"You already know Gabriel," the man on the throne said, rising to his feet. "And at any rate, he doesn't give introductions."

"What's wrong with him?" Cloud asked. "He's… almost like an animal."

"I will explain," the man replied. "Before I tell you, however, I should introduce myself." He reached up and removed the hood from his face, and Cloud felt a weight settle squarely into his stomach.

"Michael," Zack Fair's clone said, his eyes flashing. "The First Angel."


	20. Chapter 20

His face seemed to be just as Cloud remembered it. He even wore his hair in the same slicked-back fashion as Zack had. But there was something in his eyes, in his expression, that was entirely alien. Cloud abruptly saw that Michael's pupils were vertical slits, and he realized that they were just like Sephiroth's had been. It sent a shiver running down his spine, and it reinforced his conviction that the thing standing in front of him was Zack only in appearance.

"Za – Michael," Vincent said. "Do you know of your… origin?"

"I should hope so," Michael replied. "If I don't, it would be because Uriel lied to me."

Uriel laughed and made a dismissive gesture. "Impossible, First Angel. You know I am nothing but truthful with you."

"Indeed," Michael said, sounding as though he were savoring the word as he spoke it. "At any rate, I will take over for you at this point, Uriel. Stay here and go over the agenda with the rest of the Angels." He paused and looked at Gabriel, who was staring at Cloud, clearly aware that the man was about to leave. "Gabriel, you may come with us if you wish." The boy immediately sprang out of his crouch, landing on the floor next to Cloud, fifteen feet away. "Follow me, gentlemen." Michael strode toward the exit; Vincent, Cloud, Red XIII, and Gabriel followed him. The door slid open to admit the five of them. As soon as Red XIII's tail was clear, it closed itself.

They walked in silence for a minute, letting Michael lead them down a series of hallways that eventually ended in a large, fortified steel door cut into the rock of the crater. Michael opened up a panel set into the frame, keyed in a long series of digits that Vincent covertly memorized for the future, and said, "So. I promised I would explain Gabriel's origins to you."

"You did," Cloud said.

"It will be easier to explain my own, first." The doors ground open to reveal a large elevator, little more than a platform suspended in a shaft blown out of the rock. "What I'm about to show you has only been seen by the other Angels. Nobody else – our lower uplifted members, our human servants – has ever seen this." They boarded the elevator and Michael pressed the only button, which was marked with an arrow pointing down. The elevator slowly began to move down the shaft, the rock walls all around it seeming to climb higher and higher as it descended.

"You know that you were part of Project Revelations' Operation Worst Case, I assume," Vincent said.

"I know. What's more, I know exactly what Worst Case was attempting to do." Michael tapped himself on his chest and said, "I am Project Revelations' attempt at creating another Sephiroth."

Cloud drew back a pace involuntarily, shocked. "What?"

"At the time of Project Revelations' inception, you were the deadliest single fighter in the entire world," Michael said. "The only one who had been able to outmatch you was Sephiroth, and you killed him – partially through luck, partially because he was arrogant and let his guard down. It was determined that the only way to beat you, if it came down to a straight fight where it was impossible to ambush you or otherwise eliminate you without a fuss, would be to create another Sephiroth."

"But you're not like Sephiroth," Vincent said. "If they wanted to create another one of him, they should have gotten a sample of his DNA."

"Not true," Michael countered. "I am another Sephiroth in the sense that I was made with the same process. Sephiroth was the result of a fetus in the womb being injected with JENOVA cells. We have no idea what his genetic makeup was like beforehand. He probably would have been a superior specimen, but the JENOVA cells could have just as easily made a weakling into a god by being present during gestation. A member of Project Revelations posited that the most efficient way to obtain another Sephiroth would be to start with a genetic sample from a human who was proven to be a superior specimen, creating a clone with enormously accelerated growth, and as soon as the process began, injecting the developing clone with JENOVA cells."

"It makes sense," Red XIII said. "But why didn't they use Cloud's genes? A sample of his DNA would have been much easier to come by than yours."

"Cloud, lest we forget, did not actually qualify for the SOLDIER-creation process," Michael said. "Shin-Ra records clearly state that though he was physically fit, he suffered from an inferiority complex and was thus not mentally stable enough to endure a mako shower and JENOVA injection in quick succession. No offense intended."

"None taken," Cloud murmured.

"So they decided to use the DNA of a proven SOLDIER, preferably First Class, and they hit upon Zack Fair, who had at one point gone toe-to-toe with Sephiroth and survived." Michael shrugged. "The result was me. I won't bore you with all the messy, scientific details of the process, but they aged me to my mid-twenties over the course of about two years and then returned my metabolism to normal before putting me in stasis. Throughout those two years, I was given flash-learning sessions on all sorts of different material – combat, history, Materia, the WRO, everything. I was also told that someday, I would have to fight you –" he looked at Cloud – "and I was given your complete biography and an analysis of your strengths and potential weaknesses."

"But they put you into stasis and that battle never took place," Cloud said. "Just like they put me into stasis, too."

Michael nodded. "Uriel was the one who discovered the remains of Project Revelations, stumbling upon their deserted base of operations twenty-one years ago. I'm sure he'll be more than happy to tell you how he deduced the link between JENOVA cells and the disease, but to make a long story short, he became the first uplifted human being, and he started the Immaculate Swords."

"So you're only the First Angel because of your power," Vincent said. "He's the real leader in the organization."

"Oh, no," Michael said. "I'm the First Angel because of my power and because I am the undisputed leader. He has the technical expertise, but I have the vision." He grinned. "When he freed me from stasis and told me about his discovery, I had him uplift me too, and I said that together we would bring this to the entire human race. He was inspired by my vision of a utopia, inhabited by superior beings, and swore to follow me. He used to be the Second Angel, but he became the Third when Raphael joined us, and he then became the Fourth when Gabriel –" his eyes flicked to the boy – "was born."

"Born?" Red XIII asked. "Not uplifted?"

Michael nodded. "Once we had established a firm power base here and recruited enough followers and servants, we undertook what we called Project Generations, or Project G for short – though it had nothing to do with Shin-Ra's Project Genesis." He reached out and scratched Gabriel's head, and the boy responded eagerly, pressing himself against Michael's hand and looking very pleased. "We used my own genetic material to make him, using the same process that Project Revelations had used. However, we not only injected him with JENOVA cells during the gestation stage, we also injected him with the disease as soon as it was clear that the JENOVA cells had taken. Gabriel is the result."

"But he's… _wrong,_ " Cloud said. "Can't you see that?"

"It's all a matter of perspective," Michael countered, withdrawing his hand. Gabriel promptly went back to nuzzling Cloud's hand instead. "Gabriel doesn't breathe or blink or feel the need to eat because he never needed to. He doesn't have organs, muscles, or a skeletal structure the way we do because they never developed and he never found a use for them. He has what appears to be a human body because he naturally imitates the people raising and taking care of him and because there's just enough of the human genome left to determine some parts of his development. Why he looks the way he does and why his posture is strange, I can't explain. The ego image may form even before the features of the body, or perhaps it's something in the genome that wasn't overwritten first by JENOVA cells and then by the disease. He grew up here and never felt the need to subscribe to societal norms. The reason he nuzzles you and wants physical contact is because he desires affection and has no reservations about demonstrating that fact."

"Fine, but why doesn't he talk?"

Michael looked down at Gabriel and said, "Gabriel. Can you speak?"

Gabriel looked up at Michael and nodded.

"There. He can talk."

"That doesn't prove or explain anything," Vincent said.

"He doesn't have any reason to communicate with you on any level above the most basic. We've taught him who we are, who he is, and why he exists. Part of that was teaching him to speak, which he can indeed do – I've heard him, he's very articulate – but it's not something he takes advantage of very often. Why? I don't know."

"For somebody with such a grand vision, there's a lot you don't know about the implementation," Cloud said.

"Indeed." The elevator finally ground to a halt in front of another pair of huge metal doors after descending what had to be close to half a mile. The air was hot and stifling, and when Cloud reached out a hand to touch the rock around them it was warm.

"We must be halfway to the mantle by this point," Vincent said.

"The crater descends very far," Michael replied, punching in on an identical keypad to the one above another set of numbers that Vincent also memorized. "Here we are."

The doors opened and they stepped into a massive underground laboratory.

The floor was plated steel, but the walls and two-hundred-foot-high ceiling were rock, and it was clear that the laboratory had been built into a huge chamber deep beneath the ground, one that had either been created by the formation of the North Crater or formed naturally. It was filled with rows upon rows of pods, set into the towering walls or neatly arranged along the floor. The pods were obviously made for the creation of clones or similar artificially-produced beings, and the rest of the space in the laboratory was taken up by huge amounts of other equipment that monitored the pods, giving detailed readouts and analyses and allowing control of the environment. At the far end of the chamber, at least five hundred feet away, loomed a mako reactor. It was obviously built from cast-off and scavenged parts, but judging from the fact that everything in the laboratory seemed to be functioning, it worked well enough.

The sight was almost too much to take in at first, but it became even worse when Cloud realized that all of the pods were filled with Losts.

"An army," Red XIII said. "There have to be at least a thousand of them in here."

"Twelve hundred, to be precise," Michael said, beginning to walk through the laboratory, obviously expecting Vincent, Cloud, and Red XIII to follow him. "They're a special type of Lost – created using the same cloning technique as Gabriel and I, except for the fact that the disease was injected without any JENOVA introduction. We also showered all of them with mako. The results were fantastic."

As they walked through the rows of pods, Cloud took a close look at the Losts and realized that Michael was right. The Losts were still twisted and gnarled, but the fact that they had developed that way meant they were sleeker, more agile-looking, and the mako showers had swelled their muscles and hardened their skin. Any one of them was probably worth five regular Losts, and Cloud didn't want to think about what the Immaculate Swords could be planning with an army like this.

"Also, because the creatures developed without suffering insanity due to a preexisting consciousness, they're actually somewhat intelligent – around the level of a dog. With proper flash-learning, we've trained them to be obedient to commands from the right people."

"Enough of the tour," Vincent said abruptly. He stopped in his tracks and glared at the back of Michael's head. "You still haven't told us your intentions or why you expect us to want to join you. I'm not seeing anything that I would want to support or live in the same world with, Michael. Make your argument, and then either kill us like Uriel said you would or let us go."

Michael sighed and scratched at his head. "So impatient. Well, if that's how you're going to be, I'm not going to stop you." He turned around, spread his arms as though he were preaching to a great audience, and said, "I intend to uplift the world."

"You mean turn the world into a bunch of immortal freaks?" Vincent asked.

"As I said, it's all in your perspective." Michael lowered his hands. "You can afford to be derisive about immortality, Vincent Valentine. You already have it. But what about your friends and loved ones who are slowly dying every time they take a breath? Would they scorn my offer as easily as you do?"

"Anyone who has a pair of eyes in their head can see that you're offering them a crooked bargain. Immortality and power – at what cost? Their humanity, their identity, their soul? It's not worth it."

"Again, that must be very easy to say for someone who has immortality and power and didn't have to sacrifice any of those things." Michael looked at Cloud and Red XIII. "Don't you agree with me? Won't I be doing the world a favor? Very soon, I will gather up this army of Losts. I will take it and the other Angels and uplifted and march down to the Central Continent. We will take control of the cities, one by one, and we will offer every human being a choice. If they are run-of-the-mill or inferior specimens, we will tell them that they can either submit to our will and make us their rulers or they can die. If they are superior specimens that impress us, we will make them the same offer, excepting that we will uplift them rather than making them servants or breeding stock for Losts.

"We will do this until we have taken the entirety of the Central Continent, and then we will move onto the Western Continent. We will make everyone there the same offer, and once we have done that, we will spread our sphere of influence to the southern islands and the scraps of humanity that cling to existence there. Then we will take back the Eastern Continent from the disobedient Losts and make the world safe again. Once that is accomplished, we can begin looking into measures to repair the ecological damage that has been done and even return the world to its normal orbit."

"And why can't you do all this peacefully?" Cloud asked. "Why do you have to make yourself the ruler?"

"Because I am the one with the vision. I am the superior being. Any opposition to my plan either stems from human stubbornness or stupidity, two things I intend to eradicate when I uplift this world." Michael smiled and extended a hand to all of them. "So. Will you join us, Vincent Valentine, and be the eternal enforcer of my will? Will you join us, Red XIII, and rule as a fellow superior being? Will you join us, Cloud Strife, and let us uplift you to the Angels, where you will certainly take up the mantle of at least Fifth?"

Silence reigned in the cavernous laboratory, broken only by the occasional sound of a hibernating Lost stirring in its tank. Gabriel had ceased nuzzling Cloud's hand and was staring intently at him, mouth slightly agape, obviously aware of the importance of the moment.

Finally, Red XIII said, "I believe I speak for all three of us when I say, 'You can burn in Hell.'"

Michael's smile didn't waver. He dropped his hand and sighed. "A shame. I think you would have made powerful allies. Well, there's no sense in conflict at this stage. The three of you together would probably be able to cause a significant amount of damage before we put you down, so…" He turned away from them and said, "You are free to go."

Cloud stared, confused, at Michael's back. "You're serious. You're letting us go after everything you've told us and shown us."

"Yes."

"But Uriel said you would kill us if we rejected your offer!"

"Uriel tends to speak in the long term more than in the immediate. The three of you are certainly going to die in the coming battles. There is no reason to kill you here and risk damage to our enterprise when we can just as easily kill you outside of your own gates." Michael shrugged, back still turned toward them, and added, "Besides, it doesn't matter what you've been told or what you've seen. You could tell every living soul left on this pathetic piece of dirt and you still wouldn't be able to muster the forces necessary to stop us. Really, there's no way we can possibly lose." He made a dismissive gesture and said, "Now go. The elevator will take you back up to the base, where you will be escorted back to the glacier. I'm sure you have the helicopter that Uriel gave to Alexandra, so we won't be giving you a ride."

"We _will_ stop you," Vincent said. "Letting us go now is going to be the biggest mistake you'll ever make."

Michael looked over his shoulder and smiled at them. "No. No, I don't think it will be."

"Come on," Red XIII growled. "Let's go before he changes his mind." The three of them slowly made their way back to the elevator, not taking their eyes off of Michael. Gabriel watched them go, his expression plaintive, and when Vincent punched the ascension button, the boy gave a long, sad wave to Cloud.

He said nothing, but it was clear from his expression that he never thought he was going to see any of them again.


	21. Chapter 21

When the elevator had almost reached the top of the shaft, Vincent said, "We're stealing an armed chopper and blowing up as much of this place as we can."

"Sounds good to me," Cloud said. "Red?"

Red XIII peeled his lips back from his teeth in a feral grin. "No objections. However, I think we should put this elevator out of working order. It may slow Michael down a little bit."

"Point," Vincent said. "Cloud, we're welding it to the sides of the shaft." He pulled a Blizzard Materia out of his pack and bound it to himself. "You know what to do."

"Sounds good. You take the left side, I'll get right." The two men immediately started charging incinerating blasts, their arms glowing with power. Thirty seconds later, they unloaded the blasts, but not all at once – instead, they thrust their arms out and a continuous stream of orange flame poured out of their hands. They swept the streams along the sides of the elevator, liquefying the metal and rock there. Vincent immediately pumped a large amount of spirit energy into the Blizzard Materia, and an icy wave of frost exploded out from him and hit the sides of the elevator, instantly cooling and hardening the metal and rock, fusing it all together.

There was a loud, long grinding noise, followed by what sounded like a small explosion. The elevator stopped moving.

"What do we do if the Immaculate Swords figure out the plan?" Red XIII asked as they jumped the last ten feet up to the large steel doors, which opened at their approach.

"It's only been about fifteen minutes since we left that council chamber," Vincent said. "The Angels are probably still in session about their agenda. They're the only real threat. Between the three of us, I'm sure that we can take out anyone less powerful fairly quickly, even uplifted humans like Renbato or Alexandra."

"All right," Cloud agreed. "Let's hurry."

They made their way quickly through the hallways and pipes and up the several elevators that they remembered taking. They emerged in a hub enclosure and the three dozen or so humans – none of them wore jumpsuits to indicate having been uplifted – looked at them curiously.

"Your masters have said we can go," Vincent said brusquely. "Which way to the top?"

An older man pointed down one particular hallway near him. "Take the elevator through there. It'll pop you out at a level where you can take tunnels back to the glacier above."

"Thank you," Vincent said.

The three of them began moving past the man, who abruptly grabbed Cloud by the arm and hissed in his ear, "Take one of the Stingers. They have air-to-surface weaponry. You can level this entire base and give yourselves time to escape."

Cloud stared at him, shocked. "But…"

"We're not all loyal drones here," the man said. "Some of us had families to consider. Some of us would rather be dead, at this point. Don't worry about us." He let go of Cloud and moved away, a look of determination on his face.

Distraught, Cloud caught up with Vincent and Red XIII. "Did you…?"

"We heard," Vincent said. "But only because we have very good hearing. I doubt anyone else picked up what he said to you."

"The bastards," Red XIII growled. "Forcing people to join them by making hostages of their families."

"How will we know what a Stinger looks like?" Cloud asked.

"They're an old WRO stealth bomber," Vincent replied. "If we can get up to the landing pads, I'll be able to recognize and even pilot one. We _will_ make them pay for what they've done and what they want to do."

They turned a corner and boarded the elevator. It whisked them back up to the way they'd come in before, complete with the entrance to the tunnel through the rock that led to the site where Uriel and Gabriel had ambushed them.

"Climb," Vincent said. "Red XIII, will you…?"

Red XIII coiled and leaped, landing almost vertically on the sheer walls of the crater. Cloud looked closely and saw that the beast's impressive claws were actually digging deep into the rock, grasping at handholds and creating them where there were none. "I'll be fine," Red XIII said. "Hurry."

The two men moved after Red XIII. The climb was difficult, but nowhere near as bad as Gaea's Cliff, and they made quick progress, getting up to the closest landing platform in less than two minutes. They heaved themselves up onto the flat surface and looked at the helicopter sitting on the pad. It was identical to the sleek, black craft that Alexandra had used.

"The two of you can take this," Vincent said. "Red XIII, you can show Cloud how to pilot it. We'll fly it up until we find a landing pad with a Stinger, at which point I can jump out and get into that. It's only a one-seater anyway."

"You sure? I've never piloted a helicopter before," Cloud said. "Or any kind of flying vehicle, for that matter."

"Cloud, you figured out how to pilot a submarine in five minutes," Vincent reminded him as they jumped into the helicopter. "You'll be fine."

"I guess you have a point." Cloud sat down in the pilot's chair and stared at the unfamiliar array of dials, switches, knobs, and gauges. "So, Red… what do I do first?"

A minute later, Red XIII had run Cloud through the start-up procedure and the craft was lifting into the air. Cloud was delicately gripping the yoke and peering up through the windshield to make sure he didn't fly the copter into a landing pad above them. The Immaculate Swords' setup did not make it easy, but he was managing remarkably well for someone who had never touched a helicopter before. There was just something about Cloud and vehicles, Vincent supposed.

It didn't take more than ten seconds for the helicopter to rise above a pad that had a Stinger resting on it. The sleek, compact bomber looked like an obsidian arrowhead, and Vincent felt nostalgia for the days back when the WRO made them en masse. He had always liked the way the planes had looked – although it wasn't technically a plane, as it could ascend vertically.

"This is where I get out," Vincent said, moving to the helicopter's side door and opening it. "Don't wait on me. Just get as far away from here as you can. I'll be fine."

"Roger," Cloud said. "Take care of yourself. We'll see you on the other side."

Vincent leaped out of the copter, managing to slam the door shut as he fell, and landed right on top of the Stinger. He quickly popped the cockpit, got inside, closed it, and ran the plane through its startup sequence. That took a couple minutes, during which Cloud brought the helicopter up and out of the crater and flew it out of visual range. The Immaculate Swords probably knew that something was wrong by this point, and leaving a helicopter hovering above them would only clue them in more on that fact.

The anti-grav engines of the Stinger, WRO tech that was by now lost to most everyone, hummed quietly as they initialized, and the plane lifted smoothly off of the ground. Vincent pulled it straight up into the sky and checked its weapons complement. He smiled when he saw that it still had all eight Hellfire Rocket-Propelled Ordnance Delivery Systems, powerful missiles that could level a large building.

He pulled the Stinger up into the sky, stood it on its nose, and pointed its weapons directly at the base underneath. "Take this," Vincent said to nobody in particular and squeezed the trigger on the yoke.

Two missiles streaked out of the Stinger's underbelly. Riding on jets of flame, they rocketed down into the crater, heading straight for the Immaculate Swords' base.

Suddenly, the missiles stopped dead in mid-air. Vincent stared and saw that they were visibly straining against something that their engines couldn't overcome, and they suddenly flipped around and rocketed back up at him.

He pulled the Stinger sharply out of the way, and the missiles streaked past him and detonated in midair, exploding into a pair of huge, golden fireballs that singed the Stinger's wings. Casting his gaze around, desperately trying to figure out what happened, Vincent suddenly realized that there was a single figure that seemed to be somehow levitating in the air amidst the landing platforms.

A voice spoke over the radio. "Vincent, I'm disappointed in you."

"Uriel," Vincent growled. "How?"

"Nothing that goes on in our abode is unknown to us," Uriel said. The figure began to rise steadily up towards Vincent. "The man who spoke to Cloud Strife about the Stinger has been chastised for his misconduct. We knew you would take his advice, and we've acted appropriately. If you were willing to leave in peace we would have gladly let you go and allowed you to live a bit longer, but as it stands, we must punish your flippant disobedience with death."

The figure suddenly accelerated to blinding speed and then stopped on a dime, hovering in front of Vincent's cockpit. Uriel smiled at him through the windshield and tapped on the glass. "Hello," he said.

Vincent immediately drove the Stinger into a dive and then sent it through a series of looping corkscrews that brought it up and around to point south at the Central Continent. He gunned the engines and the plane rocketed forward, going nearly two hundred miles an hour and accelerating.

Uriel flashed into view to the port of the plane, streaking through the air. "You can't run, Vincent Valentine," his voice crackled through the plane's radio. "Let me show you exactly why."

He extended a hand, and Vincent suddenly felt the plane lurch. It began to arc in a slow, wide turn to port. Something had latched onto the wing, and though Vincent stared at Uriel he couldn't see what it was. His mind flashed back to the way the man had ripped the Peacemaker right out of his hands from ten feet away. Could Uriel have developed some kind of telekinesis?

Then Uriel grabbed his outstretched hand with his other hand and yanked down, hard. Vincent swore as he felt the plane begin to nose down into a dive that would send it spiraling into the glacier below. He yanked up on the yoke, desperately trying to get the craft to level out, and then felt it snap upward as Uriel yanked up. "Can't have you dying too soon, Vincent Valentine."

"I'll make you feel differently," Vincent snarled. He pulled the Peacekeeper from where he had stowed it next to the seat and popped the cockpit open. He threw himself back in the seat to get his feet up, sandwiching the plane's yoke between his boots, and kept it in the air while he sighted down the barrel of the rifle at Uriel's hand.

He fired, and a bullet larger than a man's finger lanced out and blew Uriel's hand clean off. The plane immediately stopped spiraling to port, and Vincent managed to pull it back around in the right direction with his feet. He fired again, this time aiming for Uriel's head.

Time seemed to slow. In a single instant, with perfect clarity even from five hundred feet away, Vincent saw Uriel's expression turn murderous. He watched the bullet he'd fired be neatly bisected down the center.

Both halves flew off to either side of Uriel's head. "Oh, Vincent," Uriel said, his voice deadly calm. "That was a terrible, terrible mistake."

Vincent felt the plane lurch again, and the hum of the anti-grav engines cut out. A cold wind assailed him from the rear, and he looked over his shoulder, a mounting suspicion taking hold.

The back of the plane had been cut neatly away.

All the instrument gauges instantly died, and Vincent felt the remainder of the plane begin to nose-dive toward the glacier below. Without hesitating even for an instant, he pulled his feet off of the yoke, slammed them down against the floor of the rapidly falling cockpit, and jumped clear.

He twisted in midair and fired the Peacekeeper at Uriel again, but the man sliced his regrown hand through the air and the bullet split in half just like the last one. "Useless!" Uriel laughed. Vincent tightened his grip on the Peacekeeper as he felt it suddenly try to rip itself out of his grip. His arms wrenched, but he managed to hold onto his gun, and he actually stopped falling. Hanging weightless for a moment in midair, he realized that something very thin and very strong was wrapped securely around the barrel of the rifle.

"Got you," he murmured and lashed out with an attack from his Fire Materia, sending a searing whip of flame through the space between Uriel and himself. He felt the pressure on the gun instantly cease and he began to fall again, which was preferable to hanging three hundred feet in the air at his enemy's mercy. Vincent flipped himself over in midair so he was falling headfirst, let go of the Peacekeeper, and thrust both hands forward. Twin bursts of sustained flame erupted out of his palms, acting against his momentum and lowering him down to the ground at a speed that wouldn't break anything when he hit.

Just before he landed, he did a quick midair somersault and hit the ground on his feet, Cerberus drawn. He looked around for Uriel and the Peacekeeper but couldn't see either of them.

"Looking for this?" a voice asked from behind him.

Vincent whirled, ducking in the same moment, and fired Cerberus at Uriel, who was standing directly behind him, holding the Peacekeeper. The bullets never found their mark – they were shredded into bits in midair and swept away on the wind, and Uriel smashed Vincent across the face with the butt of the Peacekeeper, sending him sprawling.

"You seem fond of this gun. If you want it so much, I'll give it back to you," Uriel laughed. He launched himself fifteen feet into the air and hurled the Peacekeeper with enormous force. The rifle hit Vincent in the abdomen, and he screamed as the blunt barrel ripped straight through skin and muscle. He made a strangled noise and began to reach for the rifle to pull it out of him, but he screamed even louder when Uriel landed right on top of it and forced it all the way through him and out his back, smashing its tip into the ice below.

"You may have been able to defeat Renbato by yourself," Uriel sneered, standing on Vincent's chest, "but you couldn't even handle Alexandra without having to transform into Galian. If we ranked the uplifted on the same scale of power as the Angels, Vincent, they would have been Eleventh and Tenth, respectively, and you know that the curve is exponential. This is all true, so how do can you possibly hope to defeat me? Me, the _Fourth Angel_?"

Vincent fought through the haze of pain and said, "Because I have to." He raised Cerberus and pointed it at the man's head. "Because nobody else will."

"HA!" Uriel crouched down and put his face to Cerberus's barrels. "If you think you can kill me with solemn vows and crude weapons, Vincent, go ahead. Give it your best shot. I guarantee you that you will fail, and you will die."

"Fine," Vincent said, choking back the blood that was rising in his mouth. "I will."

He brought his gauntlet up in a savage blow that raked Uriel across the face, destroying both of the man's eyes. Uriel recoiled instinctively, the wound painful if not especially damaging, and Vincent fired Cerberus. The bullets snapped Uriel's head back and made him stumble off of Vincent, and the gunman seized his chance. He pumped spirit energy into his Fire Materia and repeated his trick with the sustained flames, except this time he produced them from the bottom of his feet. They burned straight through the soles of his boots and rocketed him across the flat ice of the glacier, tearing the barrel of the Peacekeeper out of the ice even as it remained buried in his abdomen.

"Futile!" Uriel screamed after him. He threw out both his hands, and Vincent felt the same thin, impossibly strong strands that had tried to yank his rifle out of his hands wrap themselves around his ankles. He retaliated with another whip of flame, but Uriel was expecting it and wrapped even more of the things around Vincent's legs, then yanked. Vincent's progress across the ice was abruptly halted, then reversed. He skidded painfully back toward Uriel, the flames emanating from his feet only serving to send him spinning wildly around. He stopped generating them and focused on lashing out with whips of flame to try to free himself, but it was no good.

Uriel looked down at him as Vincent came to a halt in front of him, Cerberus emptied and the Peacekeeper still impaled through his gut. "You just don't understand how pathetic this struggle is, do you, Vincent?" he asked. "Here. Let me show you."

He threw his arms into the air, and Vincent felt the things wrapped around his legs hurl him up into the air, spinning around helplessly. Uriel laced his fingers together in front of himself and then pulled them violently apart, spreading his arms out to their full span and leaving them there. Vincent felt strands wrap around his arms as well as his legs and he was suddenly immobilized in midair, being pulled in four different directions. He strained against the things holding him in place but found that it was impossible.

"Struggling is useless," Uriel said, his arms still splayed out, fingers quivering. "The things immobilizing you, Vincent, are ultra-thin 'wires' composed of my JENOVA-disease fluid, packed into an incredibly small space and consequently so dense that nothing but magic can cut them. I can manipulate them in any way I choose and I can extrude them from any part of my body. Right now I'm extruding them from my fingers and waving my hands around because that's the method of control that requires the least amount of effort." He rose into the air and stopped just slightly above Vincent so he could look down on him. "Don't you get it, Vincent? I'm utterly destroying you and I'm not even trying hard."

Vincent glared at him. "You talk big, Uriel, but you don't frighten me. We _will_ kill you and everyone else in the Immaculate Swords. I promise you that much."

Uriel laughed. "Will you, now?" He snapped the fingers of his right hand, and Vincent could suddenly no longer feel his left arm.

He jerked his head around to stare at what had just happened. His arm, still clad in his brass gauntlet, was falling to earth. A huge gout of blood exploded from his shoulder, and Vincent screamed again, the pain hitting him like a charging behemoth. Uriel bent double, clutching his gut, laughing so hard that tears would have sprung to his eyes if he had been human. The sound of it was high-pitched and utterly insane.

Then all the mirth vanished from his expression in an instant. "Well, Vincent Valentine?" he asked, his voice deathly calm. "Do you give in yet? Do you recognize my superiority? I could kill you with a thought even as I speak. Give me one reason not to."

Vincent couldn't speak for the pain. He hung limply in Uriel's clutches, head drooping and eyes squeezed shut, clenching his teeth so hard that the sound of them grinding was like an avalanche in his head. _Yuffie… I'm sorry…_

"VINCENT!" Cloud shouted.

Uriel snapped his gaze up and saw the blonde rushing at him in midair, gripping the First Tsurugi and blazing with energy. "SNAP OUT OF IT!" Cloud yelled at Vincent. He slammed into Uriel with the force of a thunderbolt, bringing the First Tsurugi down on the insane man in a Braver. The blow liquefied Uriel's entire upper body and turned it back into JENOVA-disease fluid. The wires holding Vincent up abruptly lost all cohesion and he fell to the ground thirty feet below, landing with a sickening crunch.

Cloud pushed off of Uriel and landed in a crouch next to Vincent, the First Tsurugi ready. "RED, GO!"

Uriel was just beginning to reform when a helicopter smashed into him. Red XIII, who had been directing the craft by gripping its yoke with his tail, leaped clear of the vehicle as Cloud sent a fireball shooting straight into the copter's fuel tank. The helicopter went up in a brilliant fireball and Red XIII landed deftly on all fours. He immediately braced himself against the ice, claws digging into it, and spirit energy began to percolate into a massive red ball above his head.

Uriel emerged from the helicopter's explosion, burnt, half-reformed, and enraged, only to be speared straight through the chest by the massive burst of energy from Red XIII's Cosmo Memory. In fifty years, Red XIII had increased the power of the technique, and a densely packed ball of explosive mako followed the initial beam assault. The ball smashed into Uriel and detonated in a fiery burst, sending the Angel flying, completely out of control. He disappeared into the foggy sky a moment later, thrown into a parabolic arc that would end with him smashing into the ice more than half a mile away.

Breathing heavily, Red XIII asked, "You think that killed him?"

"No," Cloud said. "No, I don't think so at all." He pulled Vincent to his feet. The gunman was still reeling with pain, and he clutched at the still-bleeding, perfect cut where his arm had been. "Easy, Vincent. Easy. Red, could you…?"

"Of course," Red XIII replied, bounding forward and wrapping his tail dexterously around Vincent's severed arm. "Will we be able to reattach it?"

"Hold…" Vincent groaned. "Hold it to the wound. I… no energy…"

"We got you," Cloud said. "Give me your Restore Materia, I can use it for you." Vincent unbound the Materia from himself and handed it to Cloud, who took it and Vincent's severed arm from Red XIII. He pressed the arm to Vincent's bleeding shoulder and poured all the power he could into a Cure spell.

The spell accelerated Vincent's already augmented healing, and the severed flesh knitted itself back together as though it had never been severed. Cloud blew out a long, relieved sigh and gave the Materia back to Vincent. "Good as new."

"Only somewhat," Vincent said, sounding better but still looking even paler than normal. "We won't be able to fight him – the only reason you even managed to damage him was because it was a surprise attack and you didn't give him time to react. He could kill all of us before we even got a hit in if he was serious, but he was toying with me. It's the only reason I'm still alive."

"Works for me," Cloud said. "Let's get the hell out of here."

"He can fly. We'll never be able to outrun him."

"It's a good thing, then, that we can fly too," Red XIII said. "Observe."

The moment the last word left his mouth, an attack transport roared down out of the sky and landed in front of the three of them. The cockpit opened and revealed Marlene in the pilot's seat. "Well, what are you waiting for?" she demanded. "Get in!"

The three of them didn't need any further encouragement. It was cramped inside the cockpit, considering it had been intended to seat three at most, but they all fit, and Marlene brought the craft back into the sky, pointed it in the direction of the Protectorate, and gunned the engines.

Vincent blew out a long sigh and slumped wearily in his seat. "Marlene, you are a lifesaver. Thank you."

"Of course I am," she replied airily. "You're very welcome."

"Still. How…?"

"That helicopter had a radio that could cut through the EM interference," Red XIII explained. "Doubtless it was using lost signal-enhancement tech. As soon as we took off from the North Crater, we managed to get a message through to the Protectorate, who had Marlene in an attack transport only ten minutes out just in case something like that occurred. It's a shame we had to destroy the helicopter, but…"

"We have an identical one hidden in Modeoheim," Cloud said. "We can retrieve it at any time."

"Sounds like a plan," Marlene said, altering the course of the transport slightly. "Reeve figured that you would stash any aircraft you happened across at Modeoheim in favor of a stealthier approach, so he gave me its coordinates just in case. We'll go and pick up this helicopter so we can open it up and figure out how its tech works." She looked over her shoulder at Red XIII and said with a smile, "It's good to see you're okay, Red."

"Believe me, I am just as glad as you are," Red XIII replied, his tail wagging. "So. We've escaped with our lives and valuable information, though unfortunately we couldn't do any damage to the Immaculate Swords' base of operations. What do we do now?"

"Knowing what they're planning, there's only one thing we _can_ do," Cloud said.

"Yes," Vincent agreed. "Cloud's right.

"We prepare for war."


	22. Chapter 22

It had not taken them long to fly down to Modeoheim, retrieve the copter Vincent and Cloud had stashed there, and then proceed back south to the Central Continent. Just as Reeve had said, the Protectorate had massed an army of about a thousand people, plus multiple light and heavy ground vehicles and various aircraft. The army was impossible to miss, moving en masse to the northernmost tip of the Central Continent.

Marlene landed the attack transport, which was carrying her and Cloud, and Vincent landed the helicopter, in which he and Red XIII were ensconced. Disembarking from the craft, they were immediately aware of the fact that there was a crowd of several hundred people gathered tightly around their landing spot, and nobody was saying anything.

Finally, the crowd parted to let a Cait Sith through. "There you are!" it exclaimed, sounding relieved. "I'm so glad you're alive! Even if you're three days ahead of schedule, I was still beginning to lose hope!" The robot looked at Red XIII in particular and said, "Did they hurt you, Red?"

"I was treated very well," Red XIII replied. "That is, before they tried to slaughter the three of us as we escaped. I would say that their hospitality began to suffer somewhat at that point."

Cait Sith shook its head. "So they're just as dangerous as we believed. What's their agenda? How close are they to completing it? What preparations should we be making?"

"Their agenda," replied Vincent, "is enslaving or destroying the entire human race. They're ready to start now, and doubtless are mobilizing their forces after our escape. They have an entire army of specially bred Losts to serve as foot-soldiers, uplifted humans to serve as field lieutenants, and six extremely powerful Angels to serve as commanders."

"Uplifted humans? Angels?"

"Uplifted humans are impressively powerful people that were injected with JENOVA cells and then the disease," Red XIII said. "The Angels are their commanders and the most powerful out of all of them. We fought the Fourth Angel, Uriel, as we were escaping, and we barely managed to get away with our lives."

"How powerful is their leader?" Cait Sith asked. "Compared to Sephiroth, that is?"

Everyone looked at Cloud, who seemed to shrink a little under the attention. "Well," he said. "Not that we've fought him, but since the power of the Angels increases exponentially as they go up in rank, and Uriel nearly managed to kill the three of us without really trying hard… I'd say he's worse than Sephiroth. Probably by far."

Murmuring spread through the crowd in a great wave, and some people began to look panicked. Cait Sith also looked extremely alarmed. "How do you expect to fight him?" he asked.

Vincent shrugged. "We have no idea."

Cait Sith sagged for a moment, dejected, and then straightened up. "Well. Sitting around talking about it won't get us anywhere." He turned to the crowd and said, "We're beginning a full-scale retreat! We're not going to be able to fight this enemy on their own turf – we have to make them come to us! We're retreating to New Nibelheim, where we'll meet the brunt of their attack and scatter it!"

The crowd quickly dispersed, all of them starting to make preparations for the fallback. Cloud moved up to Cait Sith and quietly asked, "What about Rocket Town? Isn't it still the northernmost town on the Central Continent?"

"Rocket Town has been gone for some time," Cait Sith replied. "New Nibelheim is the last bastion of civilization as one goes further and further north. The Immaculate Swords are surely going to start their attack there."

"If you say so. Do we have any other last-ditch weapons like the satellite that we can use?"

"We have some old artillery from the Shin-Ra days that we've managed to scrounge up," Cait Sith said. "It's not a lot, but it'll provide some decent long-range support. Other than that…" The robot shrugged. "There's nothing like the Sister Ray or the Proud Clod left in the world today, Cloud. You, Vincent, and Red XIII are our strong cards. I also have some Combat Cait Siths and Inquisitors that I can move to New Nibelheim, and they'll help, but it really comes down to what the three of you can do."

"And we can't even beat the Fourth Angel," Red XIII murmured. "To say nothing of the Angels above him…" He looked up, surprised, as Vincent stalked away from them, heading back to Marlene's attack transport. "Where are you going?"

"Back to Old Nibelheim," Vincent said. "There's something I have to do. Something that I've put off for far too long."

He began to climb into the transport and stopped when Cloud laid a hand on his shoulder. "What are you planning, Vincent? What's going on?"

Vincent sighed and turned to face his friend. "Cloud. You remember what I was like at the apex of my power, when I had control of Chaos. I destroyed Omega, the ultimate WEAPON created by the planet, and defeated Weiss the Immaculate in single combat. Now look at me." He gestured at himself, looking angry. "I can't even beat a megalomaniacal Angel who's only fourth-best in his circle."

"What's in Old Nibelheim that you need?" Cloud asked. "We should be staying here and helping the army retreat, Vincent. After all, we're the entire reason they mobilized and marched in the first place."

"I need to be able to control Galian, Cloud," Vincent replied. "Next to Chaos, he's always been the hardest one. Easy enough to suppress now that I know the trick, but if I let him out he takes over and does whatever the hell he likes. I can't allow that any longer." Vincent shrugged off Cloud's hand, climbed into the attack transport, and began prepping it for takeoff. "I need to crush him and truly take his power for myself."

"But how is going back to Old Nibelheim going to help you?" Cloud demanded.

Vincent sighed. "The _kànderén_ hallucinogenic cocktail, Cloud. If I can control the way it affects me, I may be able to get into my own head and fight Galian there. That's the only thing I can think of that might work."

"You have to let me help you. We're in this together, Vincent."

"Even if I wanted your help with this, there's nothing you can do to help me. There's no way for both of us to go through with this and get into only my head."

Cloud smiled. "That, Vincent, is where you're wrong."

* * *

As the attack transport touched gently down on the landing pad in front of Protectorate headquarters, it was easy to tell that the place was understaffed and manned by only a skeleton crew. Rather than the usual team of mechanics and attendants, there was only one person waiting for them, her hands on her hips in a familiar posture.

Vincent popped the cockpit open and leaped out onto the ground. "Hello, Yuffie."

"Vince," she sighed, walking forward and pulling him into a hug. "Glad to see you didn't get yourself killed after all."

"Well, I –" Vincent stopped in midsentence as Yuffie released him from the hug and then slapped him explosively across the face.

"Where did you get off thinking you'd leave without telling me?" Yuffie snarled at him. "Do you have any idea what it was like to wake up to find out that the two of you were gone and you hadn't even bothered to tell me?"

"We didn't tell you," Cloud said as he also dropped to the ground, "because we knew that if we did, you'd insist on coming along and endangering yourself."

"But!"

"No buts, Yuffie. We're your friends, we know how you are."

She sighed and also pulled Cloud into a hug. "You're right, I guess. Still, you could have been a bit nicer about it."

"Sorry," Cloud said, returning her embrace. "By the way, when I let go, you're not going to slap me, are you?"

"No," she said. Cloud let go of Yuffie and winced as she struck him across the face, too. "Yes."

"Fine. I guess we kind of deserved that."

"Damn straight you did. Reeve told me that Red's fine, though, so I guess I can forgive you."

"Good to hear." Cloud looked at Vincent and asked, "So, are we going through with this?"

"Of course."

Yuffie looked between the two of them, confused. "What are you going through with? Something else you can't tell me or I'll come along and endanger myself?"

Vincent sighed. "No, Yuffie. It's not like that." He started off in the direction of the mansion, and she and Cloud began to follow him. "As it stands, I'm not strong enough to fight any of the Angels. I need complete mastery over Galian's powers before I'm up to their level."

"How are you going to do that?"

"Don't act incredulous or anything, or you'll make us start to worry about how well this could turn out," Cloud said. "Vincent's initial idea was to use the _kànderén_ hallucinogenic mix to let himself get inside his own head and fight Galian. I said I wanted to help, and I reminded him about how Tifa helped me get my own head straight."

Yuffie frowned, obviously trying to remember the details of what Cloud had told them, so long ago, and then her eyes widened. "The two of you are going to jump into the Lifestream?"

"Basically," Cloud said. "The mako reactor up on Mount Nibel, even if it doesn't work, will let us jump in. The issue is not getting swept away in the current and being able to get back out of it again."

Yuffie stared at him for a moment before she said, "You're crazy."

"It's better than letting Vincent go in alone to try to fight Galian," Cloud countered. "I've been exposed to the Lifestream before, and I'm durable enough that I'll be able to survive without a problem. Vincent's even tougher than I am, so that's not going to be a problem for him."

"Now, do you have any ideas about how to let us enter the Lifestream, remain unconscious within it, and still be able to return from it easily?" Vincent asked Yuffie. "Because Cloud and I have been thinking about that problem all the way back from our rendezvous with the Protectorate army and we still haven't come up with any solutions."

Yuffie pursed her lips and looked contemplative for a moment before she said, "Actually, yes. I have an idea, but there's a condition attached."

Vincent stopped halfway up the steps to the mansion's front door. "What?" he asked.

"You have to let me come with you."

"Yuffie," Cloud said, "I don't want to be indelicate, but you're old. You're nowhere near as durable as me or Vincent, and you've never been exposed to the Lifestream before. Who's to say that you'll survive the experience?"

"Nobody," Yuffie replied, her eyes flashing, "but I'm not going to stand around when you two are risking your lives and there's even the slightest chance I can help."

Vincent shook his head. "I'm sorry, Yuffie," he said. "The risk –"

"When have I cared about risks?" she yelled at him, cutting him off. "What the hell's wrong with you, Vincent? You never used to coddle me like this! Am I that completely useless to you now?" She balled her hands into fists and a tear ran down her face. "I'd rather die, Vincent. I'D RATHER DIE THAN BE SO GODDAMNED USELESS!"

For a moment, none of them said anything, none of them even dared to breathe. Cloud reached out to Yuffie and tried to lay a hand on her shoulder, but she batted his hand away without even looking as she glared angrily at Vincent, not blinking.

"Fine," Vincent finally said. "You can come with us. Now what's your idea?"

Yuffie's eyes smoldered. "Are you pitying me, Vincent? Is that what this is?"

"No pity," Vincent replied. "If these are the lengths you're willing to go to in order to help, then that's your decision." He looked over his shoulder, his mouth curved upward in the slightest of smiles. "And I appreciate it."

"You'd damn well better," Yuffie said, but the venom had gone out of her voice and she looked relieved. "All right, then, listen up. I'm only going to say this once. Here's the plan…"

* * *

"This," Reeve said, "is a very stupid idea."

The four of them stood in the mansion's backyard. It was evening, the sun entirely vanished behind the horizon, and in the low light they were all bathed with a gentle green glow.

"It's a great idea," Yuffie countered. "I always knew this pool would come in handy one of these days."

At her direction, Vincent and Cloud had gone into the mansion's storage, deep in the basement, and pulled out a collapsible above-ground swimming pool, stowed there decades ago and completely forgotten except by her. They had taken it into the backyard, assembled it, and then filled it with every last drop of the Protectorate's mako reserves.

"Whatever crazy thing you're intending to do with this mako will probably ruin it," Reeve sighed, a Cait Sith perched on his shoulder so he could see. "We'll have to go out and harvest more, and you know how much of a pain that is."

"It's not like people are lining up at the door to become Inquisitors, Reeve," Yuffie said. "Lighten up a little."

"You're sure this will work?" Vincent asked, looking dubiously at the pool full of glowing liquid.

"Of course it will," Cloud replied. "Mako is still mako, regardless of whether it's aboveground and separated from the Lifestream or still underground and part of it. It still contains the knowledge of the Planet and all the properties of the Lifestream. When the Lifestream pulled me and Tifa into itself, the two of us had some kind of fusion of our consciousnesses – I can't really describe it, but it was definitely because we were submerged next to one another. We should be able to duplicate the effect in a controlled setting this way." He looked at Reeve and said, "We're counting on you to drain the pool in a hurry if anything goes wrong."

"Not to worry," Reeve assured him, patting the large pistol he wore at his hip. "And I won't even put holes in any of you while I'm doing it, thanks to Cait Sith."

"Good to know," Yuffie said brightly. She had been in an indomitably good mood ever since Vincent had agreed to include her in what had to be the most insane thing they'd done in quite a while. "All right, in we go!" She paused and said, "No, wait. Both of you, strip."

Vincent looked at her. "…Excuse me?"

"No sense in getting your clothes all mako-y," she said, moving behind the pool where they couldn't see her and beginning to unzip her jumpsuit. "Besides, I haven't had the chance to go skinny-dipping with hot young men in a very long time. Let's do this!"

"Yuffie," Vincent said with excruciating calm, "I am not taking my clothes off."

"Relax, Vince, it's nothing I haven't seen before."

"That has nothing to do with it!" he protested.

"Vincent," Cloud said, "as much as I'm going to regret saying this, I agree with Yuffie."

Vincent turned to give Cloud a look that said, without any words, that this was base treachery of the worst kind. "Really."

"Mako gets absorbed into clothes just like any other liquid. After Tifa and I got out of the Lifestream, we had to wash out all our stuff several times before it was clean." He shrugged and said, "Sorry."

Vincent held the look for a second before he began unbuckling his cloak. "Bad enough that I'm going to go tiptoeing through my own mind with the two of you in toe, but now I have to do it naked. Wonderful."

"Hurry up," Yuffie's voice wafted over to the two of them. "It's chilly out here."

It didn't take them long to pull the rest of their clothes off. Vincent looked like he would rather wrestle a behemoth barehanded than go through with this, but he finally stood naked under the cold night sky and looked at Cloud, making sure to keep his gaze on the blonde's face. Cloud returned Vincent's gaze and said, "Don't worry. I'm sure it'll turn out fine."

"Ready?" Yuffie called. They could see her head on the other side of the pool, and they both nodded. "Okay. On three, we all jump in at once so nobody gets an eyeful they don't want. Ready?"

"Let's just get this over with," Vincent said.

"All right. One… two… three!"

Cloud and Vincent both easily leaped over the sides of the pool and landed in the mako with a splash. It was warm, and though it was definitely liquid it felt strangely ethereal.

Then both of them realized that Yuffie hadn't actually jumped in. Cloud sighed. "Yuffie, you're a pain."

She laughed. "Of course I am. Now close your eyes. I don't want you seeing me all old and disgusting."

Vincent closed his eyes as she requested and he realized he was no longer sitting in the pool of mako. He was standing, fully clothed, in an endless, dark universe with no beginning and no end. He wasn't even standing on anything in particular – the floor beneath his feet was invisible and when he reached down to touch it his hand went straight through, which was such a disconcerting sensation that he recoiled and swore not to try that again.

"This is very strange," Cloud's voice came from behind him. Vincent turned and saw the blonde standing there, also in his usual attire and with the First Tsurugi. The sight of the sword made Vincent realized that he wasn't sure if he was armed. A brief check confirmed that Cerberus was in its holster and the Peacekeeper was on his back.

"Hey, there you guys are!"

Vincent turned back around at the sound of Yuffie's voice, and then froze when he saw her. It was as though they had traveled forty years back in time. She was young again, in her mid-twenties. Her hair was black, her skin smooth, her body firm and untouched by time's slow decay. She carried her fuuma-shuriken, and she was dressed in the outfit she'd adopted after being press-ganged into the WRO: a grey headband, a blue strapless top with a pair of quasi-suspenders – the larger of the two hiking the bottom of the top up to reveal her midriff – tan shorts, white leggings that extended up to mid-thigh, boots that almost reached her knees, and a dark blue, laced-up leather vambrace on her right arm.

"Yuffie," he said, "you're…"

"Not much of a surprise," she said as she walked up to him, wearing the mischievous grin he remembered so well. "This is the real me, after all, not that old bag of bones that I've become." She stopped bare inches away from him and hiked herself up onto her toes, bringing her face tantalizingly close to his. "What do you think?" she whispered, her breath playing across his lips.

"Sorry to interrupt your make-out party, but something's happening," Cloud said.

Vincent scowled and turned away from Yuffie, telling himself not to let her get to him. "We are not having a –" he started to protest, then stopped talking when he saw what Cloud was talking about.

They had started to move – no, that was wrong. The three of them were standing still, and the universe was moving around them. It was whipping by them at high speed, the endless darkness turning into crimson mist and flashing by in torrents. However, none of it touched them and there was no wind to indicate its passing. It was as though they were standing in the middle of a holographic projection that was being played all around them but couldn't affect them in the slightest.

"What's happening?" Yuffie asked, looking alarmed.

"I don't know any more than you do," Vincent replied. "Obviously, we're inside my mind – that much is obvious to me – but I'm not doing any of this. That means what's happening must be because of…"

He trailed off, words becoming unnecessary as a pair of enormous, feral eyes snapped open in the crimson mists, staring balefully at them. They were yellow and bloodshot, and they focused specifically on Vincent.

"Galian," Vincent said.

" **Vincent,"** the beast's voice snarled all around them. **"To be honest, I didn't think you had the will to try to face me here – even with your comrades."** There was a terrible hacking sound that must have been a laugh, because the next thing Galian said sounded amused. **"But now you're here, and I can set forth the terms of my challenge to you."**

"Challenge?" Yuffie asked.

" **Precisely, little morsel,"** Galian said, the enormous eyes swiveling to look at her. Yuffie bristled at his demeaning name for her, but Vincent held out a hand and shook his head. The beast laughed again and said, **"Vincent has the right idea, girl. You would have no chance."** He looked back at Vincent and continued, **"We have played this game for long enough, Vincent. You let me out just long enough to get you out of a tight spot, and I dutifully slaughter everything that opposes you and go back into my neat little corner of your mind. It's much roomier now that Chaos, that arrogant son of a bitch, and the other two sycophants are gone, but I've still grown dissatisfied. These past forty-seven years, I've been content to watch, but no longer. I've known that you would eventually tire of my continued presence in your mind, and I've planned accordingly."**

"Have you?" Vincent asked, sounding bored. "What kind of plan have you come up with, Galian? I'm curious."

" **Don't patronize me, Vincent,"** Galian snarled, the eyes narrowing to angry slits. **"You know I've grown and become stronger throughout the half-century you've spent wandering this hell, this fallen Gaea. Still, this is your mind and your body, and I can't simply rebel and take over as long as you have control. Therefore, I've devised a challenge.**

" **I'm going to take you into your subconscious, Vincent. The fact that your friends are here with you will only make this better. I'm going to show you what kind of person you are, deep down. It will not be pleasant, and it will almost certainly break you. If that happens, I will take over your mind and your body, and you will cease to exist.**

" **However, if you survive this test, this purifying fire, there will be nothing left that I can inflict upon you. You will clearly be the master, and I will submit to you in all things. The entirety of my power will be yours to use at will, without fear of your mind being consumed."** His eyes curved upward into a smile, and Vincent could imagine the feral grin on the beast's face. **"So. Do you accept?"**

"Of course," Vincent said. "Do your worst, Galian. I can take it."

" **Oh, I intend to, Vincent."** Galian laughed one last time. **"I intend to."**

The three of them began to fall, the floor beneath their feet vanishing, and the universe started spiraling down into a gaping maw of nothingness that was so black it was beyond description, a hole in reality that hurt to look at.

They fell into it, and came out in Hell.


	23. Chapter 23

Vincent picked himself up off the rocky ground and looked around. Cloud and Yuffie had landed right next to him, which was the only good thing that he could think of at the moment.

They were on what seemed like an endlessly large, flat plane. The sky above them was the color of blood, and surrounding them were hundreds and hundreds of rotting corpses.

"Oh, God," Yuffie murmured. "Where the hell are we?"

" **Do you recognize these people, Vincent?"** Galian's voice emanated from above them. Vincent glanced up and saw the yellow eyes in the sky again, staring down at them. **"These are all the people you've killed over the years, whether working as a Turk, as a part of AVALANCHE, as a member of the WRO, or as an Inquisitor. Every human life you've taken is here, and they're very eager to say hello to you."**

"You're sick," Vincent growled. "How is this supposed to illustrate what kind of person I am?"

He felt his blood run cold as a bony hand closed around his ankle. He snapped his gaze down to see that one of the corpses had dragged itself over to him and taken hold of him, staring up at him with half-lidded, yellowed eyeballs that hung loosely in their sockets. "My name was Marie," the corpse whispered in a rattling, dry voice. "I was married to a Shin-Ra engineer who had problems keeping the projects he was working on absolutely secret. I divorced him, sold the schematics I could steal off to rival companies, and made a lot of money.

"Then, one evening I woke up in my bed in Costa Del Sol when you broke into my room and shoved a gun in my mouth."

Vincent recoiled and pulled away from the corpse. How could Galian know the details of what he had done before Hojo had shot him and modified him? The only explanation he could arrive at was that Galian had access to more of his mind than his subconscious, and that meant that the beast's power had increased to troublingly high levels.

"My name was Thomas," another voice hissed from behind him. He whirled and saw another corpse dragging itself toward him at a pitifully slow rate. "I was a grunt in the Shin-Ra army. When AVALANCHE attacked during the Meteor crisis, my unit was ordered to stand up to you and defend headquarters. We were being wiped out to the man, and I was the only one left. I turned to retreat, but then you shot me straight through the back of the head." It blinked slowly and whispered, "Lily, I'm so sorry…"

"My name was Kyrie," another one said.

"My name was David." They were coming to life in droves, dozens of them turning and moving toward Vincent, Cloud, and Yuffie.

"My name was Marty…"

"Jakob…"

"Cam…"

"Dylan…"

"Kathlyn…"

"Roger…"

"Madeline…"

The names mounted and the whispering increased to a roar of whispers, a torrent of names and stories, so many of them that it was impossible to differentiate them or hear any individual out of the whole. It hurt to listen to them, like listening to nails on a chalkboard or metal scraping against metal.

Vincent fell to his knees, covering his ears, grinding his teeth in an effort to drown out the endless whispers. He felt their hands on him, grasping, the leathery flesh and cold bone grabbing at his cloak and his limbs. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that Cloud and Yuffie were under a similar assault, many of the corpses that were unable to get to him going for the two of them instead.

"I'm sorry," Vincent whispered, at a loss for words.

"Sorry?" someone laughed in his ear. "It's far too late to be sorry. What would my family say if you apologized to them? They would spit in your face, you murderer."

"So determined," someone else snarled in his other ear. "So confident that what you were doing was right, to the absolute exclusion of everything else. If we weren't with you, we were against you. You always saw in black and white."

"You're only sorry now because you see us as you made us," a third voice said. "You weren't sorry when you turned us into corpses. It was impersonal – cold, detached, businesslike Vincent Valentine would never enjoy killing anyone, would he?"

"Look at all of us. You're not just a killer, you're practically a force of nature. Can one man be so destructive and still serve a greater purpose, a greater good? For every one of us that was killed, were even more saved? You can never be sure."

"Was it so necessary to kill all of us? Couldn't we have been saved?"

"You wanted to pull the trigger. You blame the world for having made you what you are."

"That's not true," Vincent said, almost unable to breathe for all the corpses clinging to him, smothering him with their bulk and their rotting flesh. "I don't think that."

"That's what you would like to believe. But you use your job as an excuse. You joined the Turks because you wanted to escape your life at home, escape your father… but you also wanted to kill. You wanted to know what power was, what it would be like to hold the life of another human being in your hands and snuff it out."

"That's NOT TRUE!"

"Why are you denying it? It's natural. Every human being wants to kill, to slaughter, to rip other humans limb from limb. They are monstrous creatures by their very natures. You are simply the next logical step. You kill and kill and kill, you irrigate the ground with our blood, and you never bat an eyelash or feel sorrow. You're the ultimate human being, Vincent Valentine."

"I'm not human! You know that!"

"You hide behind the fact that your body is different and that there are monsters in your head. You call yourself not human. But you are human, Vincent, you are terribly, terribly human, and you don't know how to deal with it."

The pressure from the corpses was gone, and Vincent opened his eyes to find that he was standing alone in a cell. Cloud and Yuffie were gone, nowhere to be seen. The cell had four bare cement walls, into one of which was set a metal door. A single, bare bulb hung down from the ceiling and cast a harsh light on him and his surroundings.

"Who are you?" he asked. "Who's telling me these things? Those corpses were just an attempt to drive your point home."

The door opened, and Vincent stared at the man who stepped through. He was dressed in a Turk's uniform – a neatly pressed suit – and his hair was shorter than Vincent's, hanging down around his head and partially obscuring his left eye. He had ruby-red eyes, pale skin, and he wore a practiced smirk that spoke volumes about his unquestioned superiority.

"Vincent Valentine," Vincent said. "I'm you."

* * *

Cloud and Yuffie stood in the cell with Vincent, but he obviously couldn't see them, because Yuffie had been waving her hands in front of his face for a minute with no effect.

"Yeah, we're invisible or something," she said. "This sucks."

" **This is to prevent contamination."**

Yuffie squeaked in surprise – not her most dignified moment – and whirled around to find Galian standing behind her in all his bestial glory. He looked down at her and snorted.

"Contamination of what?" Cloud asked.

" **His responses,"** Galian said. **"You'll see what I'm talking about… now."**

Cloud's eyes darted to the only door in the cell, and it opened to reveal Vincent – but not the Vincent he and Yuffie knew. This had to be Vincent from his days as a Turk, or at least a facsimile intended to resemble that Vincent.

Galian grinned, showing razor-sharp fangs. **"Vincent Valentine,"** he said, and the Turk Vincent spoke in the same breath. **"I'm you."**

* * *

"You're who I used to be," Vincent said. "Or you're supposed to represent that."

Vincent shrugged. "Believe what you want, but I am you. There's no two ways around that fact, regardless of how you try to dodge it or deny it."

"I've moved on from the Vincent Valentine that joined the Turks all those years ago. You're just trying to elicit bad memories by taking this particular form."

"Oh, really?" Vincent laughed, an unpleasant and grating sound. "I'm sure you think you have, but you're no different from how you used to be. Maybe you need a demonstration." He held up a hand and snapped his fingers, and he and the cell were suddenly gone.

Vincent was standing in his old home, the family manor. He felt a rush of memories hit him, but most of all he remembered the flames reaching toward the sky – flames that he had lit on orders from Shin-Ra after his father's death. _Destroy your family home. We have no idea what records your father may have been keeping there, and we cannot have his projects falling into the wrong hands. We will compensate you for your loss._

Right now he was in the den, a comfortable room that he had many fond memories of. It was a large room with a high ceiling, composed of rich dark wood. A thick red carpet covered the floor, and several leather armchairs were arranged concentrically around the stone hearth set into the wall, where a fire was crackling. Hung above the hearth was a large portrait of Vincent's grandfather, who had died before Vincent had been born.

Vincent, only seven years old, stood in front of the fire, looking contrite. His hair was short and neatly combed back, but his eyes were still red and his skin still pale. He wore a school uniform – a white, buttoned-down, collared shirt and black sports jacket paired with black shorts that didn't quite reach his knees. His gaze was fixed on his shoes, and his expression was guilty.

His father Grimoire sat in one of the armchairs. Grimoire was a severe-looking man with straight black hair that fell to either side of his face. He wore a sumptuous, dark red robe secured at the waist with a sash, a pair of matching slippers, and a disappointed expression. In the armchair across from him was a thin, nervous-looking man that Vincent remembered as one of his old teachers.

"I'm afraid there has been another incident," the nervous-looking man said in a high, reedy voice.

"Has there?" Grimoire asked, his voice dangerously low.

"When in the schoolyard today," the man continued, "Vincent here got into a scuffle with a classmate. The boy was apparently making inappropriate remarks about Vincent's late mother –" the man paused for a moment and looked pained – "and Vincent thrashed the boy with a rock."

"I see," Grimoire said. "How badly was the boy hurt?"

"There was no permanent damage, and we keep a Restore Materia on hand for such things, but the boy is deathly afraid of Vincent now and the parents are going to withdraw him from the academy. I'm afraid, Doctor Valentine, that if another such incident occurs involving your son we will not be able to continue his education at our school."

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention," Grimoire said. "The staff will see you out." The teacher nodded, got up, and left, and Grimoire sat in silence for several minutes, looking at Vincent, who kept his gaze firmly fixed on his shoes. "Well?" he finally asked. "Have you got anything to say for yourself?"

"It wasn't my fault," Vincent said. "He was being mean. I got angry."

"Angry enough to beat him with a rock?" Grimoire thundered. Vincent flinched but didn't look up. "Vincent Valentine, this behavior is unacceptable! 'It wasn't your fault?' I cannot believe you would even consider trying to escape the blame for this! Your mother –" He broke off, obviously angry beyond his ability to articulate. After a moment, he took a deep breath and said, in a much quieter voice, "Your mother would be ashamed of you, Vincent. Absolutely ashamed."

Vincent didn't say anything.

Grimoire rose from his chair and said, "You're to go to your room and study until I tell you otherwise. I'm extremely angry with you, Vincent. Extremely."

Time seemed to slow down, and the seven-year-old Vincent looked up at the adult Vincent and said, "Even this early, you were hurting people. You were hurting people and running away from responsibility for it."

"I was young and angry because my mother had just died," Vincent said. "What are you trying to prove with this? It won't work, and it's contemptible that you would even try something this low."

Vincent laughed. "I'm sure you think so. This isn't the last time, though. Not by a long shot."

Time sped up, and the figures moving through the room accelerated into indistinct blurs until the world suddenly returned to normal. Vincent, now seventeen years old and looking very similar to how he would appear as a Turk, was having a shouting match with his father.

"It's true that they supply my funding, but you know that the Shin-Ra Company is not the kind of place you want to work at!" Grimoire bellowed. "It's beneath a Valentine to go and be their trashman, Vincent! I won't allow it!"

"You think you can dictate the course of my entire life?" Vincent shouted back. "Ever since Mother died you've done nothing but smother me with your attempts to try to raise me right and make me an educated, complete human being! I'm sick of you and your self-righteous bullshit!"

"I will not be spoken to in this manner, Vincent!"

"And what're you going to do about it?" Vincent snarled. "Have the staff confine me to my room? Revoke my privileges? I'm leaving and there's not a thing you can do about it!"

"You will not go to work for Shin-Ra to be some hired killer!" Grimoire shouted. "I refuse to see it happen!"

"Try and stop me!"

That was the last straw. Grimoire lashed out and slapped Vincent square across the face with the back of his hand. The sound was like the crack of a whip, explosive and sudden, and Vincent staggered backwards, clutching at his face. He looked at his father, shocked, a thin line of blood trailing from his lip where it had split, and then his expression turned ugly.

Grimoire let out a strangled gasp as Vincent retaliated with a snap kick that landed right in his stomach. The older man wheezed and fell to his knees, clutching at his gut, and then collapsed onto the floor, quivering.

"'Bye, Dad," Vincent spat.

Time slowed again, and the seventeen-year-old looked at Vincent. "Then you ran away, and you didn't speak to your father again. You kicked him in the gut and ran off. Seeing a pattern yet?"

"You're not convincing," Vincent growled.

The room around them blurred and changed into a shifting montage of violence, everything Vincent had ever done as a Turk, everyone he'd killed and everyone he'd hurt, whirling past in a dizzying display that was almost painful to look at. "Being a Turk was perfect for you. You could finally hurt people on a completely impersonal level and even get paid to do it. Nobody ever made you stand up and take responsibility for what you were doing, because it was your job and it was expected that you'd go around brutally dispatching people.

"Then everything changed. Your father died. You realized that all the issues you had with him, all the arguments and pent-up feelings, would never be resolved, and something inside you broke. You started feeling again. This made being an emotionless killer difficult, and rather than face the fact that what you were doing was wrong and try to make things right, you ran away again. You asked to be put on the backburner, to get away from the things that were suddenly beginning to bother you, and you ended up guarding this woman." The room flashed back to the cement cell, except standing in it with Vincent and his Turk self was Lucrecia Crescent.

"You're not going to make any headway with this," Vincent said. "Stop while you're ahead."

His younger self smirked. "If it's completely ineffective and it doesn't bother you at all, Vincent, you'll have no objections to me finishing my little discourse." His detestable grin widened and he began to pace around Lucrecia, who stared blankly ahead, not seeing anything. "You fell in love with her, in your pathetic way. To distract yourself, to help you forget all the other problems in your life, you obsessed over her, convinced yourself that she was your world." He stopped directly behind her and moved very close to her, his eyes never wavering from Vincent's. "How many times did you fantasize about this woman, Vincent? The absolute yearning to smell her hair, to run your hand down her naked back…"

"Shut up," Vincent growled. "This is behind me."

"Of course it's behind you!" the other Vincent laughed. "Because Hojo came along. You rolled over and let Lucrecia choose him over you, and rather than face the problem, instead you tried to run away, convince yourself that her happiness was the only thing you cared about. Then, when you could stand it no longer, when the situation became too terrible for you to ignore, you got yourself shot, and then you woke up as a monster."

"I don't need to hear this from you."

"You don't need to or you don't want to? I think it's the latter, Vincent. I think you just don't want to admit that fact." Lucrecia disappeared, and Vincent continued, "You ran away again. You locked yourself into a coffin for thirty years, supposedly to atone for your sins. How is sleeping in a coffin and keeping yourself shut away from the world atonement? Rather than going out and trying to make the world a better place, you stayed locked in that coffin, only coming out when you were forced to." The room shifted and they were standing in the basement of the Shin-Ra manor, next to the coffin Vincent had slept in. The younger Vincent put a hand to his ear and asked, "Can you hear that, Vincent? I know you can – I know you could, even while you were sleeping."

Vincent listened, and he became aware of a faint moaning sound from not too far away. It suddenly increased to a piercing scream, a horrible, wailing cry that made Vincent cringe. The room shifted again, and they were standing next to the operating table in the basement where Hojo had done his work on Vincent. This time, it was Cloud, who was still in his teen years, strapped down to the table, stark naked. Hojo was standing over him, taking notes down on a clipboard as a lab assistant injected mako straight into the young man's veins. Cloud convulsed and screamed in pure agony as the stuff coursed through his body, and the younger Vincent looked at the blonde with what could only be described as clinical curiosity. "You heard him screaming for help for years," he said. "You knew that something terrible was going on, and you did nothing."

Vincent couldn't find anything to say. He watched Cloud strain and buck against the restrains as the mako moved through his veins like liquid fire. Hojo made a small noise in the back of his throat and scratched something out on the clipboard.

" _You did nothing,_ " the younger Vincent hissed.

The room blurred again, turning into another montage. This time it was of Vincent's time with AVALANCHE and the WRO – years, passing by in mere seconds. "When AVALANCHE found you, you forced yourself to join them in the hope that you could set things right after years of inactivity. Still, you were never truly part of the group. After Meteorfall, you drifted away from them. They had to drag you kicking and screaming into the second fight with Sephiroth and into the Deepground conflict." Omega WEAPON and Chaos flashed into view for a moment, and Vincent felt himself twitch at the sight of the demon. "You always kept your distance, never getting too close to anybody. Then the Fall happened, the WRO fell apart, and the Protectorate was formed."

The room stopped shifting, becoming a room that Vincent recognized all too well. It was Yuffie's bedroom in the Shin-Ra mansion. He and his younger self stood next to the bed in the dark as Yuffie and another Vincent made love, passionately and a bit violently. Vincent snarled, reaching for Cerberus and rounding on his younger self. "This is beneath you," he growled.

"Oh, is it?" Vincent laughed. "Should I have picked one of the times she tied you to the bed and rode you? Would that have been more appropriate?"

Before he even knew what was happening, Vincent struck out with his gauntlet at his younger self, angling the brutal talons in to rake them across his smug, superior visage. It felt like he was lashing out at steel – his attack was completely ineffective, and his younger self didn't even flinch.

"Are you quite done? I'm trying to talk, here."

"I'm not interested in listening," Vincent hissed.

"That's unfortunate, because it's what you're here to do, and listen you will." The younger Vincent indicated the writhing couple in the bed with another smirk. "Yuffie always knew what she wanted, didn't she, Vincent? Not like you at all. When she first approached you, you didn't know what to do. You didn't know how to react, even when she was kissing you and pulling you back to her room and taking your clothes off. But you went with it, because it felt good, and only after years and years did you consider what might happen.

"You gave her all sorts of wonderful reasons why the relationship wouldn't work, Vincent. You said the difference in biological age would eventually become insurmountably difficult. You said that you couldn't give her children. You said that you wanted her to have somebody who would be able to fill the gaps in her life in ways you never could.

"But deep down, Vincent, you know what the truth is. You've known, for your entire life, you did nothing but run away and not take responsibility for the people you've hurt. You were afraid you were going to hurt her, and that you wouldn't be able to run away from it. You were afraid that, for once in your miserable joke of an existence, you would have to stand up and take responsibility for something that you did wrong, and that thought was anathema to you. So you decided to run away rather than even risk doing something wrong, and you made a lot of excuses that you even made yourself believe."

Vincent gestured to his older self and Yuffie, whose frenzied lovemaking was moving swiftly toward the climax. "You can't deny it any longer, Vincent Valentine. You abandoned the one woman who ever loved you, and not because you were afraid of hurting her, as you've so neatly convinced yourself that you are. You still love her, so that's the reason you left? Bullshit. _It was because you were afraid of having to stand up and take responsibility for your actions at least once in your entire life._ "

Something broke inside Vincent, and he seized his younger self by the throat with both hands. "SHUT THE HELL UP!"

That same detestable smirk appeared on the younger Vincent's features, so wide that it seemed it would split his face in half. "You can't even admit that I'm right. You're going to run away from this. Just like you ran away from your father. Just like you ran away from Shin-Ra. Just like you ran away from the world." He leaned closer, seemingly unaffected by the iron grip that Vincent had around his throat, and said, "Just like you ran away from Yuffie."

Vincent screamed, an expulsion of pure rage and impotence, and struck at his younger self over and over, not caring that it felt like he was punching solid steel. He finally sank to his hands knees, the bones inside his right hand moving of their own accord, having been thoroughly broken, as the Vincent and Yuffie in the bed next to him lay panting in the aftermath, the sweat on their skin beginning to cool.

"You're pathetic," the younger Vincent laughed. "You know I'm right and yet you're unable to bring yourself to admit it. How absolutely laughable you are, Vincent. How sad and pitiful you are!"

"That's enough," Vincent whispered.

"What?" Vincent crouched down next to his older self and asked, "Did you say something?"

"I said that's enough," Vincent repeated, staring at the floor. In the faint moonlight coming through the window of Yuffie's bedroom, it was easy to discern the twin trails of moisture running down his face. "You've made your point. I've made mistakes and I've been a fool. I've run from having to stand up and face the consequences of my actions. I've done terrible things, and I'm not sure if it'll all have been for the greater good in the end." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"You win."


	24. Chapter 24

The room shattered into a million glittering shards of reality, and Vincent, Cloud, and Yuffie were back in the empty, formless universe of crimson mist, standing still as the cosmos rushed by them.

Vincent was still on his hands and knees. Cloud stood by his side, his expression grave, unsure whether to try to reach out to comfort his friend or give him his space. Yuffie also stood nearby, tears on her face.

Out of the nothingness strode Galian, coalescing from the mist that flashed by them. He towered over Vincent, his fangs bared in a grin. **"Impressive, Vincent. It took great strength of character to admit that."**

Vincent looked up at the beast, his eyes hollow, his face still wet. "That's not very comforting."

" **No. No, I suppose it isn't."**

"So," Cloud said. "It looks like Vincent passed your challenge."

Vincent stiffened and asked, "You mean…?"

"Yes," Yuffie whispered. "We saw it, Vincent. We saw all of it."

Vincent squeezed his eyes shut and pounded the invisible floor with his gauntleted hand. Galian threw back his head in a long, howling laugh. **"Broken and humiliated looks quite good on you, Vincent! I like the way things have turned out."**

"But I'm not broken," Vincent said, shakily getting to his feet. "I was able to admit that you're right, but that doesn't mean I've been defeated. I passed your challenge. Your powers are mine, and you're going to acknowledge me as your master."

Galian nodded his head slowly, stroking the lower part of his snout with two long talons as he did so. **"Yes. Yes, that was the agreement."**

Then, moving with blinding speed, he punched his hand straight through Vincent's chest, his talons ripping straight through flesh and bone and erupting out the other side. Vincent make a shocked, choking noise and stared at the furred arm buried elbow-deep in his chest, then up at Galian, whose nose was an inch from his own.

" **But I lied."**

"BASTARD!" Cloud roared, drawing the First Tsurugi from its harness and rushing Galian, slicing down at his head in a vertical chop. The beast ripped his arm out of Vincent's chest and caught the First Tsurugi between his hands, stopping it an inch from his head. Steely muscle rippled beneath his furred hide and he effortlessly ripped the sword from Cloud's grasp and threw it to the side, then blasted the man point-blank with a burst of blazing white energy. Cloud flew backward, a smoking hole in his clothes, and Vincent toppled over, clutching at his chest.

Galian roared in pain as Yuffie's fuuma-shuriken imbedded itself in his back, but it didn't seem to harm him terribly. He whirled around and charged the ninja, who somersaulted out of the way and hurled several more, smaller shuriken that she had kept concealed on her person. They also imbedded themselves in Galian's hide, but he slid up to her with amazing alacrity and backhanded her straight across the face, sending her flying. She hit the invisible floor of the universe and lay there, stunned.

With a sigh, Galian ripped the smaller shuriken out of him in one sweep, then reached over his shoulder and pulled out Yuffie's fuuma-shuriken with a grimace. He inspected the weapon, then lapped with his wide, greyish-pink tongue at the crimson blood that covered one of the points of the weapon. He laughed and threw the fuuma-shuriken aside. **"Vincent, Vincent, Vincent. You really should have known better than to try to forge a pact with a demon."** He turned and started walking back toward Vincent, who still lay on the ground, curled up into a ball, clutching at the gaping wound in his chest.

" **Did you really think that I wouldn't take advantage of your severely depleted state after I put you through hell? Did you really think I would** _ **honor**_ **an agreement when I've never shown the slightest hint of honor? There is naïveté, Vincent, and then there is sheer stupidity."** He reached down and grabbed Vincent by the hair with his left hand, then lifted him up until he hung limply in his grasp at eye level. Vincent groaned and thrashed against the beast's iron grip, but the hole in his chest kept him from doing anything useful. **"And while it was very gallant of your friends to insist on accompanying you on this futile expedition, all it gained them was a look at your true nature, followed by horrible deaths when I destroy your consciousness and take over your body. I would appreciate the irony, except this outcome was so obvious to begin with that there's really none to be appreciated."**

Galian cracked his neck, and then pulled back his right hand, forming it into a knife-edge, talons extending outward, ready to plunge it straight into Vincent's face. **"Goodbye, Vincent. Perhaps before I kill Yuffie Kisaragi I'll show her your truly bestial nature. Now there's something you'll be able to take responsibility for – all the way to your grave."**

He thrust his hand forward, the blow angling in to pierce right between Vincent's eyes, rip through his skull like tissue paper, and shred his brain into meaty chunks.

It never got there. Vincent's head snapped up, his eyes opened, and he brought up his gauntleted hand. He caught Galian's blow in a grip like a steel vise, a bare inch away from his face. "I won't have it," he hissed.

Galian drew back instinctively, trying to free his hand and alarmed that he couldn't. **"What?"**

"I won't have it," Vincent snarled. "You were right. I've run from everything, and everyone, for my entire life, but I won't run from this. I'm not going to be the one responsible for the deaths of my friends because I wasn't strong enough to overcome a pathetic demon like you. I WON'T HAVE IT!"

He squeezed, and Galian roared in pain as the bones in his right hand were crushed and snapped. The beast let go of Vincent's hair, and the gunman landed on the ground in a crouch, the hole in his chest not even seeming to faze him any more. Galian backed several feet away, cradling his right hand, fury blazing in his eyes. **"I'LL KILL YOU, VINCENT VALENTINE!"**

"We've both got a broken hand," Vincent said, voice deadly calm. "It's a fair fight, now." He stood up to his full height and motioned at Galian with his left hand. "Come on, you mongrel bitch."

Galian screamed, the sound worse than anything any Lost could muster, and rushed forward, a thousand pounds of coiled muscle blazing with destructive energy, all of it focused on reducing Vincent to a smear. He lashed out with his good hand, his left, in another piercing thrust that would take Vincent right through the throat, talons blazing with power.

Vincent brought up his gauntlet and also struck out in a piercing thrust, but he didn't aim for a vital spot on Galian's anatomy. He aimed for the beast's incoming hand.

The brass talons slipped through Galian's and ripped into the beast's hand, then his arm. Vincent roared and pushed forward, slashing through Galian's flesh and feeling bone splinter under the force of his assault, until his gauntlet exploded out of the beast's elbow, covered in red blood and trailing bits of furred flesh. Galian, his right hand broken and his left arm torn off at the elbow, lost his balance and toppled forward, landing heavily on his stomach.

Galian rolled over, trying to get back on his feet, and the last thing he saw was the murder in Vincent's eyes and a flash of gold as the gunman sank his gauntlet into the beast's face.

* * *

As he woke, Vincent became aware that someone was kissing him.

He opened his eyes and was staring straight into Cloud's face. The blonde was kissing him, full-on, and for a moment Vincent thought this might be some kind of absurd dream. Then he realized that Cloud wasn't using any tongue and was breathing into his mouth, and following that Vincent also realized that he wasn't breathing. Flashes of sensation came back to him. He'd slipped beneath the surface of the mako and his body had started anaerobic respiration. It could do that and keep him alive for hours, so when they'd pulled him out of the mako – the sensation of arms gripping him by the shoulders came into his mind – they'd thought that he hadn't been breathing because he'd inhaled the stuff and his lungs were full of Lifestream.

Vincent carefully put his hands on Cloud's shoulders and levered the other man off of him. "I'm fine," he said. "When it comes down to it, I don't need to breathe for hours, so I forgot to start again when you pulled me out."

Cloud, who was still stark naked – looking down at himself, Vincent saw that he was, too – collapsed into a sitting position and wiped at his mouth. "You might have said something. I was performing CPR for almost two minutes."

"I was… distracted," Vincent said. "Galian's death released something, changed things inside my mind. There was a rush of power, and I was straining not to lose myself in it. Only when it calmed down did I come back to consciousness." He offered his friend a weak smile and added, "But I appreciate you going to such lengths to try to keep me alive."

"It was really hot," Yuffie said matter-of-factly. Vincent jerked in surprise and glanced over his shoulder to see Yuffie, back to her normal, aged self, standing beside the pool of mako, wearing a robe. "I would have took pictures if I'd had a camera."

"I'm glad you didn't," Cloud muttered. Reeve emerged from the house with a pair of towels and tossed one to both him and Vincent. Cloud caught the towel out of midair and hurriedly rubbed himself off, eager to get back into his clothes. Gaea at night was chilly, and he didn't need to show off any more than he already had.

It took the two of them only a short time to get back into their clothes once they were dry. Only when he buckled the last of his cloak's belts around himself did Vincent think to say, "I… appreciate the two of you helping me. If not for you, I doubt I would have been able to overcome Galian."

"Not like we were much help," Cloud said. "He was just too strong. How the hell did you manage to beat him?"

"I was inspired," Vincent said, looking at Yuffie out of the corner of his eye. She didn't seem to notice, and he continued, "At any rate, how much of what went on did you see? I don't remember you being there for most of what I went through."

His friends remained silent for a long minute, obviously uncomfortable, until Yuffie finally said, "We saw all of it, Vince. We were standing right next to you and you just didn't see us. It was some trick of Galian's."

"I see." Vincent sighed and pulled his cloak closer about himself. "I'm sorry you had to see all of that."

Yuffie shrugged and began to move past him, heading back into the house. "Nothing I didn't already know, Vincent," she said quietly. "I'm just glad you finally figured it out yourself… even if it's a little late." The door closed behind her, leaving Vincent, Cloud, and Reeve standing outside under the stars next to a pool full of mako.

"The pool can sit for the night," Reeve said. "We should all get some sleep."

"You're right," Vincent agreed. "Cloud, let's go inside."

The blonde nodded, obviously distracted, and followed Vincent inside.

* * *

Vincent knocked softly at Yuffie's door, not sure exactly what he was doing here or even if there was a reason. After a moment, the door opened to reveal Yuffie, with dark circles under red-rimmed eyes. She had obviously been crying.

"Oh," she said. "Come on in, Vince."

"Thank you." Vincent let himself inside and closed the door behind him, and Yuffie went back over to her bed, sat back down on it, and wiped at her eyes before pulling another tissue from the box that was on the bed next to her. "I… I wanted to ask about earlier."

She sniffed. "Did you. Huh."

Vincent frowned. "What's wrong?"

He barely managed to duck the tissue box when she threw it at him. "Isn't it obvious?" she demanded. "For just a little while, I was young and pretty again, and now I'm back to being old and ugly and I hate it." She pressed a tissue to her mouth and started coughing, a violent, wracking sound that shook her frame. When the cough subsided and she withdrew the tissue, Vincent could clearly see that it was covered in flecks of glowing mako.

He felt a lead weight settle into his stomach. "I'll go and get a Restore Materia," he said, turning toward the door.

"Won't work on this," Yuffie said. "Cure magic only accelerates the body's natural processes, remember? You'd just kill me faster. My fault for being an idiot and breathing in a bit of the stuff."

Vincent looked back over his shoulder at her. She seemed incredibly small and frail, sitting on the edge of her bed like that, shoulders hunched. He turned away from the door and moved to sit down next to her, cradling her against himself with his right arm. She looked up at him, then at the gauntlet. "Still wearing that thing, huh?"

"You know I told you I would."

"Of course you did." She coughed again, managing to get the tissue up to her mouth when she did. "Ugh."

"There's got to be something we can do to make it a little easier. Maybe a doctor, or…"

"Since when did you care, Vince?" she asked, her voice flat.

Vincent stared at her like she'd just stabbed him in the gut, his expression shocked. "What?" he demanded. "What did you just say?"

Yuffie looked at him, and there was anger in her eyes. "Since. When. Did. You. Care?" she repeated, biting off each word.

"Yuffie, you're delirious. How can you think I don't care about you?"

"I am NOT DELIRIOUS!" she snarled, shoving him away from her. "You don't see how I can think that? What am I supposed to think, after you dumped me twenty-one years ago and gave me a lot of bogus and bullshit excuses as to why? Vincent Valentine, you dumped me because you were afraid that our relationship would go the way of everything else in your life – to shit. But rather than _tell me_ and let me help you figure out how to keep that from happening, you ran away. How does that equate to caring about me, Vincent?"

"I –"

"You what, Vincent? You thought things would turn out better this way?"

"Yuffie, you're –"

"Overreacting? Making assumptions? I know I'm right, Vincent."

"No, Yuffie –"

"If I'm wrong," she said, standing up, "then explain to me how running away from an important commitment shows that you care about someone. Come on. I'm dying to hear your reasoning behind this."

"You know I made a mistake," he said, his voice venturing dangerously close to a growl. "Can't we just move past this?"

"Oh, sure!" she spat at him. "That's a great idea, Vince! I'll just move past the fact that you took my life and shredded it into bits because you were afraid of DOING EXACTLY THAT!"

"Yuffie!"

"Don't you 'Yuffie' me!" she shrieked. "How can you expect me to be understanding after what I saw in your head, Vincent? Galian was right, you know. All you've ever done is run away from the important things because you were afraid they'd somehow blow up in your face. Instead of taking a chance and trying to make things turn out right because you cared and this had to work, you just went ahead and gave me up while you were saying you were afraid to lose me! And why? Because the great, scary, and powerful Vincent Valentine _has no balls._ "

"I'm not going to stand here and listen to this," Vincent growled. "I'm leaving."

"Oh, because that's never come back and bit you in the ass!" Yuffie laughed bitterly. "Run away again, Vincent! That's always made everything better, hasn't it?"

"Go to hell," he said, opening the door.

"I'll see you there!"

He slammed the door shut behind him and stood there for a moment, quaking with rage. After a moment of holding it in, he roared, an unintelligible sound of pure anger, and slammed his fist into the wall in front of him. His hand drove straight through the ten-inch-thick wood paneling and broke a stud before it hit concrete, which it spread jagged cracks through.

Vincent stared at the hole he'd just punched in a wall. He'd done similar things, but he'd never hit anything quite this hard. Either the mansion was less structurally sound than he had initially supposed it to be, or he had suddenly gotten stronger.

Yes, he had gotten more powerful. He could feel Galian's energy coursing through his veins, so much power that he hadn't even realized was lairing inside of him. He couldn't even discern the full extent of it or how deep it went, but he was sure he would find out eventually.

Still, what price had he paid for this strength? He'd had to go through Hell and let Galian shove his ugly nature into his face, make him see himself for what he was. Yuffie was right, of course. However rigorously he might deny it, the ninja knew exactly what she was talking about. He'd wake up in the middle of the night, tortured by nightmares of her dying and him being unable to do anything about it. When she was out on assignment, he'd be constantly worried about her and would feel like he was walking around on knives, waiting for the inevitable stab of pain when someone told him that Yuffie wasn't coming back.

He could only imagine how it must have felt for her. He'd convinced himself that he'd been doing both of them a favor, though the reality couldn't have been further from that nice illusion he'd constructed for himself. And ever since then, he had continued to worry about her, except now he couldn't even turn to her for support because he had distanced herself from her, ostensibly remaining friends when in the end it was very obvious that they could never truly share what they had once shared. They could never really see eye-to-eye again.

Vincent desperately hoped that things would go back to normal the next day. That was how Yuffie had operated in the past; when they'd had fights that he'd brought up again later, she would just say she'd been depressed and sleep-deprived and apologize and laugh about the whole thing. The ugly truth would still be there, but they'd get back to the old grind with a new, positive outlook and get through it. He sighed and headed back to his room, hoping that Cloud hadn't heard any of the shouting – or, even if he had, that he wouldn't be in a mood to ask questions.

Vincent really didn't feel like telling his old friend how he'd only now realized just how thoroughly he'd ruined Yuffie's life.


	25. Chapter 25

"You three are our trump cards," Reeve was saying.

Vincent, Cloud, and Red XIII stood in front of Reeve's throne as the man inspected monitor readings and massaged at his temples. Red XIII had just arrived that morning after journeying through the night. Yuffie was conspicuously absent; when Cloud had conscientiously asked where she was, Reeve had replied that she was not feeling well and didn't want to get out of bed.

"I've deployed all two dozen Combat Cait Siths that we have at New Nibelheim," he continued. "Any one of them can handle several Losts at once, more if they come in ones and twos, but from what you've told me of the Immaculate Swords, they're not going to be much use against the leaders or even uplifted humans. That's where you come in."

"Should we concentrate on defense or offense?" Vincent asked.

"If that army of Losts gets into the city, it really won't matter if you kill their leaders," Reeve said grimly. "However, the army will be much less effective without leadership. Therefore, we'll adopt a two-pronged strategy.

"Red, you will be on defense. I'll supply you with the Data Materia that Vincent found – it's a mastered Destruct – as well as a Comet Materia that we've been saving for just such an occasion. Between those and Cosmo Memory, you should be able to inflict some massive, large-scale damage on their army."

Red XIII nodded. "That sounds like a sound plan. I take it, then, that Vincent and Cloud will be the offense."

"Yes. Vincent and Cloud, you two will also act defensively until you get an uplifted human or an Immaculate Sword in your sights, at which point you'll terminate them. No mercy and no niceties, understand? They're not going to be showing you any of those courtesies, so don't feel as though you have to play nice."

Vincent's lip twitched. "No. Of course not."

"Have you evacuated New Nibelheim?" Cloud asked.

"A few people have left," Reeve said. "But the majority of them either don't want to leave, have nowhere to go, or are stubbornly insisting that nothing's wrong. Other cities aren't going to be accepting refugees, Cloud. It's hard enough to support their own populations, to say nothing of a bunch of castaways. If New Nibelheim falls, then everyone who lives there will be effectively condemned to death."

"We won't be able to help them?"

"If we help a few of them, all of them will expect us to help them, and the Protectorate simply doesn't have the resources for that. We only have one shot at this, Cloud. The three of you and the army manage to fend off the attack on New Nibelheim, or it falls, everyone in it dies, and the Immaculate Swords move on to 'uplift' the rest of the Central Continent." Reeve leaned forward in his chair and asked, "Do you understand?"

"Intimately," Vincent growled. "Let's go." He swept his cloak around him and left the room.

Reeve waited a beat and then said, "All right, Cloud. What did the three of you see inside Vincent's head? I heard shouting last night, and now Yuffie's saying she's not feeling well enough to get up and Vincent is very obviously brooding. The last thing we need is for all of you to be unable to handle working together."

Cloud hesitated and then said, "We saw a lot of stuff that I'm sure Vincent would rather we hadn't. He said our help was essential to beating Galian, so I want to say that it was all worth it in the end, but…" He shrugged. "Vincent pretty much had the truth of all his failings shoved in his face, and Yuffie and I had to watch while it almost destroyed him."

"I see." Reeve stroked his goatee in thought and asked, "Are they going to be unable to work together in the future? Is Vincent's ability as an effective combatant going to be compromised by this whole situation?"

"I think Vincent and Yuffie have their own set of problems that no amount of tact on anyone else's part can fix," Cloud said. "He hurt her pretty badly, and for no good reason. Either they'll be able to come to grips with it and deal, or…" He shrugged. "I wouldn't worry about Vincent's ability to fight, though. He was brooding when we first met him and he was still deadly, remember?"

"You're right." Reeve sighed and leaned back in his seat again. "At any rate, the three of you should be on your way as soon as possible. Don't forget that the lives of everyone in New Nibelheim rest on your shoulders."

"We won't," Cloud said solemnly. "Of course, you'll be directing the Combat Cait Siths, so you'll be there to remind us if you need to."

"Of course," Reeve replied with a faint smile. "Good luck, Cloud, Red. I hope you won't have need of it."

* * *

"We are on course for New Nibelheim," Red XIII said. "Estimated time of arrival is an hour and forty-five minutes. I'm afraid we will not be offering in-flight services, but please make yourselves comfortable for the duration of our trip."

"We don't even get a beverage?" Cloud asked, sounding miffed. That earned him a light whap across the face from Red XIII's tail, though the beast thankfully kept the flaming tip curled backward. "Fine, fine. Be that way." He looked over at Vincent, who was staring out the windscreen of the cockpit, eyes fixed on nothing. "So. I heard you and Yuffie had a fight last night."

Vincent blinked slowly, once, and said nothing.

"You want to talk about it?"

"Do I look like I want to talk about it?" Vincent asked through clenched teeth.

"No, but that probably means you really need to."

"There is nothing to discuss."

"Vincent –"

" **I don't want to talk about it!"** Vincent snarled, snapping his head around to glare at Cloud. As he did so, his eyes turned a feral yellow, his features seemed to blur and returned to focus with white fur on them, and his teeth elongated themselves into deadly-looking fangs. Cloud jerked back instinctively, his heart shooting up into his throat for a second.

Vincent held the glare for a moment and then seemed to realize something was wrong. He tentatively lifted a hand up to his face and ran it along his cheek. **"What the hell?"** he murmured. He closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment, and his features returned to normal, the fur fading away into nothing, his teeth shrinking back down, and his eyes returning to their normal ruby hue.

"What the hell was that?" Cloud asked.

"I must have incorporated Galian's form into my own when I took his power," Vincent theorized.

"But I thought you already had Galian's form within yourself."

"Not really. There were physical processes that I underwent to start the transformation, but the majority of it was magical. It was like switching between two mutually exclusive states – I was either myself or I was Galian, never both." Vincent looked at his right arm and concentrated, and it began to bulge with muscle, sprouting long, white hair, and his fingers started to develop long, vicious talons. He reversed the changes and returned his arm to normal. "I can't say how it works, only that it does."

"That's good enough for me," Cloud murmured. "Still, Vincent…"

Vincent sighed. "I'm sorry I snapped at you, Cloud. I just…" He hung his head and closed his eyes, his expression full of regret. "It's not easy, being shown how you're a coward and how you've ruined the life of a woman who's done nothing but love you."

Cloud tentatively laid a hand on Vincent's shoulder. "I know. It was hard to watch for me, and it must have been a hell of a lot worse for you. Still, now that you know exactly what happened, you can make sure it doesn't happen again. The next time you feel like you have to run away from something, just tell yourself that it's not happening. Tell yourself that you have to stand your ground in order to be able to look in the mirror and not want to punch the guy you see there. It'll work out, you'll see."

Vincent chuckled. "If you say so, Cloud, then I suppose that's all I need to hear." He straightened up and resumed looking out at the horizon. "Still, this isn't something that can be fixed with a few kind words and a little contrition on my part. This is something I'm going to have to deal with for the rest of my life – especially what I've done to Yuffie. I have to make amends for that somehow."

"Why don't you just ask her to take you back? I mean, you still love one another."

"It wouldn't work like that, Cloud. It'd be far too little, far too late."

"But you have to do something to show her that you're sorry. Otherwise there wouldn't be any point to everything you went through, would there?"

"If I may make a suggestion," Red XIII said. "All that you have to do, Vincent, is apologize to her."

"How will that make everything right again?" Vincent asked incredulously.

"Oh, don't get me wrong," the beast said. "It won't. But the fact will remain that you did, and Yuffie will recognize that. She'll see that you know the incredible depth of your mistake and that you realize how futile it is to try to set it right, but you'll be trying anyway. A common human aphorism is, 'It's the thought that counts.' I've normally heard this in reference to poorly selected birthday gifts, but it's true for so much more than that. What will count is your intent."

After a moment, Cloud leaned forward and patted Red XIII on the shoulder blade. "This is why you're the genius and I'm just the guy who hits things with swords," he laughed.

Red XIII gave a chuffing laugh. "Please. You flatter me too much, Cloud." He looked back at Vincent and asked, "So. Do you understand what I'm saying, Vincent?"

Vincent nodded. "I do, Red, and I suppose you're right. I just – I'm afraid of what will happen if she doesn't see it the way you've said she will. Maybe I'll just be digging myself a deeper hole. A large part of me says that I shouldn't even bother trying, that I've destroyed everything special I ever had with her and she'll never want to see me again."

"But if what you had really was special, you're naturally going to want to salvage what you had and make things right again," Red XIII said. "You recognize how hopeless it may seem, but you're doing it anyway. That's what counts, Vincent. And in the long run, even if she doesn't see things how I've laid out and she tells you to never speak to her again, the important thing will be that you tried. You won't have run away from taking responsibility for your mistake. You'll have stood up and accepted the consequences, whatever they might be."

Vincent slumped a little in his seat. "You're right, of course. I – thank you." He looked over at Cloud and said, "Both of you."

Cloud shook his head. "It was all Red, Vincent. I –" He stopped and leaned forward in his seat, squinting at something over the horizon. "Is that… is that smoke?"

Vincent also snapped to attention and squinted, and he could indeed see smoke. As the attack transport moved closer, he could see that it was a huge, black column of smoke rising up from what used to be a Protectorate outpost located midway between Old Nibelheim and New Nibelheim.

"You think it was an accident?" Red XIII asked.

Cloud shook his head. "With the Immaculate Swords coming, we can't put anything down to chance. How much time will it take to land this thing, look around, and then get back in the air?"

"About half an hour, assuming that you keep the search light," Red XIII replied. "Advance Protectorate scouts have reported that that Immaculate Swords' army is moving en masse, but relatively slowly, and isn't due at New Nibelheim for another four hours or so. We have time."

"Then take us down," Vincent said. "This might have been caused by an advance party. We can't have one of those running loose in Protectorate territory when all our forces are at the front lines."

Red XIII nodded and brought the craft down towards the site of the incident. Vincent swallowed and pushed all thoughts of Yuffie out of his head. It was time to be focused, and, if necessary, to put his new powers to the test.

He hoped they would be enough.

* * *

The outpost was the site of a massacre.

All twenty-one people who had been manning the place, a small bunker located atop a bluff, were dead. Their throats had all been slashed in exactly the same manner, and they'd bled out quickly.

Cloud felt his teeth grinding as he looked at the carnage. Whoever was responsible, there was nothing they could do at this point. Red XIII was waiting outside with the attack transport, and the three of them needed to be going quickly. They needed to organize the defense of New Nibelheim, and they only had a few hours to do that.

"Who do you think did it?" Cloud asked Vincent as he walked outside, carrying two of the bodies. The other man was laying down the last two on the pile they were making to burn.

"Probably one of the Angels," Vincent replied. "Which one and why, though, I have no idea. He's obviously not here any longer, else he'd already have attacked us."

"I'm not so sure of that," Cloud said. "After all, the only one whose capabilities we know is Uriel. Even if all the rest of them do is fight barehanded, they're still shape-shifting monsters with unbelievable regenerative powers – and you know that they don't just fight barehanded."

Vincent nodded as he set the pile of bodies aflame, producing a column of smoke that rose to join the one emanating from the shattered remains of the outpost. "Agreed. Still, we've combed the outpost fairly thoroughly. If they were here, they've had any number of opportunities to attack us."

Cloud paused, listening. Something was wrong, and he couldn't quite put his finger on it for a moment. Then he realized that the only sound he could hear was that of the bodies burning, when he should be able to hear the drone of the attack transport's rotors as Red XIII kept it hot for a quick takeoff.

He looked at Vincent, who raised an eyebrow, stopped to listen, and then came to the same conclusion. They both rushed back to where they had left Red XIII and the transport, their weapons drawn.

It was as they'd feared. Somebody had neatly sliced off both the craft's wings. Red XIII was crouched in the cockpit, waiting for another attack, the Materia he'd bonded with himself glowing in his headdress, but nothing was coming.

"What happened?" Vincent called as they rushed up to Red XIII.

"I don't know," Red XIII replied. "I was sitting here, remaining alert, when the craft's wings suddenly were cut straight through. I wasn't harmed; however, I have a feeling that's not by any virtue of my own defenses, but instead a taunt from our enemy." His eyes swept the area around the transport and he continued, "Our enemy, who should still be… NEARBY!"

He leaped straight out of the cockpit, Materia shining, and the sky twisted above them and produced a monumental comet at his command. The comet rocketed down and smashed into a spot perhaps twenty yards from the three of them, rocking the ground and making them stumble.

"That's strange," a familiar, airy voice hissed from right behind them. "I could have sworn that I was better hidden."

Cloud instinctively whirled around and swung the First Tsurugi in the same movement, but Selaphiel, who appeared behind them in a rippling effect similar to a wave of heat, easily ducked the wild strike and threw himself backward. He grinned at them, displaying his razor-sharp teeth, and his eyes seemed to burn into Cloud's soul. "Nice try, Cloud Strife, but I'm not that easy to kill," the Fifth Angel laughed.

"Selaphiel," Vincent growled, leveling Cerberus at the man's head. "What are you doing here?"

"I was directed to proceed ahead of the main army and destroy this outpost in order to lure one or more of you here," Selaphiel replied, brushing a strand of his silky, white hair out of his grey face. "Then I was to contain you here in the manner I deemed most effective."

"I'm afraid you'll find 'containing' all three of us difficult at best," Red XIII said, his hair standing up and his teeth peeled back menacingly from his teeth.

"Don't think I haven't calculated all of your strengths and compared them to my own," Selaphiel said. "I will freely admit that I would not be able to take all of you on at once. I am only, after all, the Fifth Angel. However –" his thin lips curved into a toothy smile – "it's hours from here to New Nibelheim on foot if you hurry. There's no way for you to get to the city and join the defensive line quickly enough to make a difference."

Cloud struck out in a lightning-fast Blade Beam that blasted Selaphiel off of his feet and sent him sprawling, and Vincent fired off several three-round bursts from Cerberus. Halfway to the ground, the Fifth Angel disappeared in another shimmering effect and Vincent's bullets shot through empty air.

"Temper, temper," Selaphiel chided them, still invisible. "Well, there's no hope for you to be effective defendants at this point, so my duty is done. I think I'll be rejoining my comrades now."

Just as abruptly as he had appeared, Selaphiel vanished – he was already invisible, but the three of them could feel his presence evaporate like water, leaving them alone with the useless attack transport.

"Damn," Red XIII growled.

Cloud slammed the First Tsurugi point-first into the ground and collapsed onto the sand next to it, looking intensely frustrated. "He got us. Dammit, we walked right into his trap and took the bait!"

Vincent holstered Cerberus and took a deep breath. "We don't have time to feel sorry for ourselves. We need to get moving towards New Nibelheim, right away."

"But it's going to be far too late when we finally get there," Red XIII pointed out. "And I'm sure Selaphiel wasn't fool enough to leave any working vehicles at the outpost. He's doubtless destroyed them all or otherwise rendered them useless."

"I can get there inside of two hours," Vincent said. "The two of you will just have to follow as fast as you can."

Cloud looked up at his friend incredulously. "How the hell are you going to make it on foot in two hours?" he asked. "It's a fifty-something-minute flight with the attack transport!"

"Trust me," Vincent said. "I know I can make it."

Red XIII nodded. "I understand. You should proceed ahead with all speed. Cloud and I will hurry, but we won't be able to make it for at least six hours."

"That's fine," Vincent said. "I'll try my best to hold the line." He started off in the direction of New Nibelheim, paused, and said, "Hang in there, okay? Both of you need to come out of this alive."

"We were just about to say the same thing to you," Cloud said pointedly.

Vincent allowed himself a small smile. "See you around," he murmured.

In the next instant, he felt himself become completely alien. His muscles bulged beneath his skin, which grew long, white fur. He felt the contours of his face change, a snout sprouting where his nose used to be, and his ears elongated and twitched. His hair changed and became white, and a pair of curling horns rose from his head. His eyes turned yellow, talons protruded from his fingers – he could feel them click neatly into place within the gauntlet on his left arm – and his feet extended and became hind paws, bursting through his combat boots as though they weren't even there. He didn't care; assuming he survived what was coming, he could always get new ones.

He was Galian, but not Galian; he still knew that he was Vincent Valentine, and he still wore his red cloak wrapped about his shoulders, although it was substantially stretched across his broadened shoulders. With a snort, Vincent took off at full speed toward New Nibelheim, running on all fours, bounding along at an incredible speed, his powerful muscles working tirelessly.

Even so, he knew he had a long way to go before he got to the town, and he pushed himself even harder, hoping to shave precious minutes off of the run. Vincent wished that he didn't have to go it alone, but there was no way that even Red XIII would be able to keep up with him in this state.

The Immaculate Swords had underestimated him.

At least, that was the thought he entertained with a sort of grim satisfaction until he ran face-first into an invisible wall of force. It was extremely unpleasant, hitting it at that speed, and he rebounded from it and crashed into the sand on his back, his transformation wavering for a moment.

"And here I was, thinking that my job was neatly wrapped up and done," Selaphiel's voice sighed from behind him. "Who knew you had that kind of speed in you, Vincent – or that you could command Galian's powers at will? According to the report that Uriel made, you seemed either unable or unwilling to unleash the beast when you were fighting him."

" **Things have changed,"** Vincent snarled, throwing himself up onto his feet. **"Don't expect me to display the same leniency here."** This was not good. He couldn't tell where Selaphiel was or what trick the man had used to conjure that wall of force. He couldn't even see the wall itself – it might be gone by now, or it might have moved closer, farther away, shrank, grown… Clearly, Selaphiel dealt in illusions and invisible forces.

"Leniency?" Selaphiel asked, sounding surprised. "Vincent, please don't insult my intelligence. I am the Fifth Angel; Uriel is the Fourth. Unless you have some complex about only using your full powers when protecting others, you would have transformed into Galian while fighting him if you could have. This leads me to believe that you couldn't at the time, which means that something has changed between then and now. Obviously you've harnessed the beast's power in a way that you weren't able to before. Clearly, you're a much more dangerous opponent now than you were when you were fighting Uriel."

As the man was talking, Vincent was desperately looking around for him, trying to figure out how Red XIII had seen him or detected him. Maybe the beast had just been acting on a hunch, but the placement of the Comet spell had seemed a little too directed for just a shot in the dark. Vincent cursed himself for not taking the ten seconds to ask the beast what his trick had been.

"So, since you were speaking of showing leniency, let me tell you something," Selaphiel continued. "I will not show an ounce of it, Vincent Valentine. I am going to kill you and eliminate you as a threat to Michael's great uplifting of the world. Do you have anything to say before I do that?"

" **Yes,"** Vincent said. **"You talk too much."**

Selaphiel laughed, and his attack came in a howling blast of sand.


	26. Chapter 26

Cloud and Red XIII watched Vincent disappear into the distance.

"Damn, he's fast," Cloud murmured. "No way either of us could keep up with him at that pace."

"Agreed," Red XIII said. "Before we head out, though, we should inform Reeve of our situation." He turned around and headed back to the attack transport, which, despite its inability to fly, still had a working radio that would hopefully be able to reach the Protectorate headquarters. He leaped up into the cockpit, flipped several switches, and said, "This is Red XIII calling headquarters. Does anyone read me, over?"

There was no response. Red XIII adjusted a dial and repeated himself, but still couldn't provoke anything. Cloud, standing next to the transport, asked, "Is there too much EM interference?"

"The interference causes massive amounts of noise in the signals," Red XIII said. "Even if headquarters got nothing but static from me, they would send me back a signal to confirm that they'd received some kind of transmission but couldn't make out what it was. They're either receiving and not responding or not receiving at all, which would mean that all of their equipment is down. Neither of these things are a good sign."

"Well, what should we do?" Cloud asked. "Our assignment is to go and protect New Nibelheim, but if something's wrong with headquarters…"

"You just answered your own question," Red XIII said, jumping back down out of the cockpit. "Our assignment is to go and protect New Nibelheim, and that's exactly what we're going to do. Let's go, Cloud. We haven't got any time to waste."

"So we're just going to leave it be and hope that nothing's gone wrong? I don't like it." The two of them began to walk toward New Nibelheim even as they continued to debate the point.

"I don't like anything about this situation, either, but we have our orders and taking our own initiative isn't going to help things in the long run. We just have to trust that Reeve knows what he's doing."

"If Selaphiel could get this far behind the lines to attack this outpost, though, couldn't other members of the Immaculate Swords do the same thing?"

"That's poor strategy on their part, then," Red XIII pointed out. "Selaphiel's powers obviously deal with the manipulation of light and force, making him an excellent choice for reconnaissance and secret missions."

"Speaking of that, how did you manage to see him when neither of us could?" Cloud asked.

"I couldn't see him. We were downwind from him, and I could smell him standing there." Red XIII shook his head. "Hopefully Vincent has the same capacity when he's channeling Galian, otherwise the fight might not go very well for him."

"Fight? What fight?" Cloud asked.

"You saw that Selaphiel managed to dodge my Comet. It should have killed or at least severely hurt anything within thirty feet of its landing point, but he was suddenly right next to us when it landed. On top of that, one moment he was here, and the next moment he was gone. Clearly he's capable of teleporting or otherwise moving with alacrity. As fast as Vincent is, how difficult do you think it's going to be for Selaphiel to catch up with him and try to keep him from getting to New Nibelheim?"

Cloud swore under his breath. "Think he's close enough that we'll be able to get to him in time to help?"

"No. I'm sure Selaphiel will have waited until Vincent has gotten far enough away that it would take us half an hour or more to catch up." Red XIII lifted his gaze to the horizon and his good eye narrowed. "For better or worse, Vincent is on his own for this fight. All we can do is believe in him and trust that he'll pull himself through. He always has, after all."

* * *

Vincent threw himself out of the way of the blast of sand. It wasn't even so much a blast of the stuff as it was a shockwave cleaving through the ground, but it scattered sand before it and in its wake, allowing Vincent to track its path and dodge it. Selaphiel laughed from somewhere behind him and another shockwave howled toward Vincent, making a high, screeching drone as it cut through sand.

Turning on his heel, Vincent sent glowing, white destructive energy cascading down his right arm and hurled a bolt of it at the incoming attack. It collided with the shockwave and blew it apart, spraying sand everywhere. Vincent felt a grin begin to assert itself on his features as Galian's power surged through him. He leaped twenty feet into the air and bombarded the ground all around him with a barrage of energy, blowing hundreds of pounds of sand into the air and clogging the battlefield with dust. As he'd expected, he didn't actually hit anything, but Selaphiel was suddenly very easy to see as the dust clung to him and outlined his figure. Vincent twisted in midair, pointing himself headfirst at the Fifth Angel, and repeated the trick with his Fire Materia, creating rockets of flame that erupted from the bottoms of his feet.

An instant before Vincent could gore Selaphiel on his horns, the man was suddenly gone, as though he had vanished in the blink of an eye and reappeared somewhere else. Vincent collided headfirst with the ground, which was unpleasant but didn't faze him for more than a second. He pushed himself back onto his feet, hearing as he did so another shockwave approaching, and canceled it out with a blast of energy without even having to look. Sweeping his gaze through the dust cloud he'd created, he saw with interest that Selaphiel's disappearance was not actually teleportation – or, if it was, it was the kind that left a clear trail through a cloud of dirt. A volume of dust had been displaced in Selaphiel's wake, and the trail led straight back to the Fifth Angel, who was standing about fifty feet away, still invisible but with dirt clinging to him and revealing his outline.

It was time to get strategic. Vincent reached around and pulled the Peacekeeper off of his back, aiming it at Selaphiel. He was afraid for a moment that he wasn't going to be able to get his enormous finger into the trigger guard, but it fit snugly there, as though it was meant to be, and he squeezed the trigger, sending a fifty-caliber incendiary round straight at Selaphiel's face.

This was a test of the man's reaction time. He could obviously move faster than the eye could follow for brief spurts, but did he have the reflexes to match that speed?

He obviously didn't, because the round drilled straight through his head and exploded halfway through his skull, incinerating his head and sending bits of JENOVA-disease fluid flying everywhere. Vincent followed up the attack with a charge of his own, swiping out with his gauntleted left hand and raking his talons across Selaphiel's chest before the still-staggering Fifth Angel could react. Selaphiel vanished again, but this time Vincent was close enough to feel the air being displaced by his enemy's passage, and again without even looking he pointed the Peacekeeper in that direction one-handed and fired.

The bullet took Selaphiel through the back and actually came out of his abdomen before it exploded into a fireball. Selaphiel first jerked forward and then backward as the conflicting forces knocked his body between them like a rag doll. Vincent pressed his advantage, hurling another blast of energy with his free hand and running after it, swinging the Peacekeeper around to bear again.

Selaphiel dropped his invisibility and held up his right hand, palm facing out toward Vincent, his head reforming as he did so. Vincent's energy blast impacted an invisible wall just like the one he had run into and expended its power against it, and Vincent himself skidded to a halt before the same thing could happen to him.

"I underestimated you," Selaphiel said, and he pointed the index finger of his outstretched hand at Vincent.

The invisible wall moved forward with blinding speed. Vincent could tell from the dust it was pushing aside that the wall was about ten feet high and twenty feet long, with sharp edges and corners. Before he could possibly get out of the way, it slammed into him and sent him stumbling backward. He threw up his left hand and ground his feet into the earth and it still pushed him. Selaphiel began to slowly advance, his right hand still pointing at the gunman, and he waved his left hand, conjuring another shockwave that screamed toward Vincent.

Vincent crouched and leaped twenty feet into the air again, right over the wall of force. He noted that the shockwave blasted straight through the wall as though it wasn't even there, which was bad news for him. He charged up another blast of energy, but as he took aim the wall suddenly grew in height, becoming thirty feet high rather than ten, thrusting up through the now-dissipating cloud of dust. Vincent couldn't stop himself in time, and he hurled the energy blast into the wall two inches from his face. The explosion blasted him backward, sending him twisting through the air before he slammed heavily back to the ground.

"Poor fool," Selaphiel said, his confident arrogance back in full force. "I'll admit that using the environment to counter my invisibility was an innovative tactical move. However, if I can't resort to guile, I can always use brute force."

As he was getting back to his feet, Vincent felt the wall of force slam down on him like a ton of bricks, smashing him into the ground and pinning him there. He heaved against it, but could get no support in the sand and only ended up floundering against the weight, unable to see. He could hear Selaphiel laughing, and then there was the sound of an approaching shockwave.

Without even thinking about it, he changed back into himself. His form shrank down to three-quarters of what it had been a moment before, his fur disappeared, energy stopped coursing through his veins, and he shrouded Galian's power within himself. The wall of force no longer pressed directly down on him, and he was easily able to roll out from underneath it. The shockwave ripped by him, passing within inches of his head, and ran into a large sand dune that it blew into a huge cloud of dust.

He got to his feet and jumped instinctively as the sand next to him began to shift and Selaphiel made a slicing motion with his hand. The wall of force, which had compressed itself down to a knife-edge, sliced underneath Vincent and would have cut his legs off at the knee if he hadn't jumped. It carved a neat path through the sand around it, and he landed on top of it, wobbling but managing to keep his balance.

Selaphiel growled and made another motion with his hand. The wall jerked around in quick, violent back-and-forths, but Vincent kept his feet and let Galian's power come to the surface again. He swung the Peacekeeper around a second later, his form becoming deadly and lupine once again, and blasted Selaphiel's arm off at the shoulder. The wall beneath his feet stopped moving and fell limply to the ground, and its texture changed entirely, becoming no longer hard and smooth but instead pliable, even spongy.

" **So that's your secret,"** Vincent said. It had taken him a while, but seeing enough of Selaphiel's arsenal had revealed the man's technique to him. The Fifth Angel's attacks were like Uriel's – he extruded his JENOVA-disease fluid and changed its mass and composition to form planes of what felt like force. He had also invented some sort of technique to allow his fluid to become completely transparent, granting himself invisibility at the cost of what Vincent could only assume was concentration. What Vincent was up against wasn't a wall of force at all; it was a wall of his opponent _._ The Fifth Angel could also create fine knife-edges with it, as well as ground-based projectiles with the appearance of shockwaves due to their invisibility. Selaphiel's ability to move at high speed was quite simple – he turned _himself_ into a projectile and hurled himself in a given direction. **"Your entire repertoire of attacks is based on misdirection and illusion."**

Selaphiel said nothing, merely scowling at Vincent and picking up his arm to reattach it to his shoulder. "You truly are a formidable foe, Vincent Valentine," Selaphiel said, flexing his arm. Vincent felt the Selaphiel-wall liquefy and slither out from beneath his feet, rejoining its creator. "How did you figure that out?"

" **Simple,"** Vincent said. It hadn't actually been simple, but he wanted to keep his foe off-balance. Selaphiel's shockwaves and high-speed movement only traveled in straight lines; if the man could manipulate those extrusions of himself without having to have a direct connection to them, he would have been able to curve the shockwaves and his movement after the initial moment of firing. However, he couldn't, so Vincent had been confronted with a problem – how could Selaphiel manipulate an extrusion as big as that wall without a direct connection? The answer was that he couldn't. He maintained that connection through tiny, hair-like lines of fluid from his fingers, which he then manipulated through hand gestures and motion. Vincent supposed Selaphiel could extend them from anywhere, but he had been moving his hand, so he'd decided to deprive the Fifth Angel of that. **"You're just not very good at misdirecting me."**

"How droll," Selaphiel said. "Except, Vincent, there's one thing you've obviously not taken into consideration."

" **And that is?"** Vincent asked, Peacekeeper leveled at his enemy's head.

Selaphiel grinned. "You probably think my control is based entirely upon motion. That, unfortunately for you, is wrong."

The sand around Vincent's feet exploded into the air as the wall, now a hollow cylinder, shot up from beneath Vincent. It bent itself together at the top like the closing petals of a flower, preventing him from leaping clear of it, and did the same at the bottom a moment later, effectively trapping him inside. He pounded on it and tried to blast it with energy, but though it made Selaphiel grimace, the wall held.

"I'm sorry, Vincent Valentine, but that fatal mistake is going to cost you this fight," Selaphiel said, striding toward Vincent, who was raging against the invisible prison he was trapped in to no avail. "Since it's all composed of my JENOVA-disease fluid, my projectiles phase through my walls without difficulty or loss of momentum, as you've no doubt already noticed. I can take you apart at my leisure right now." He stopped in front of Vincent, arms crossed, and said, "We've both underestimated one another, it seems. Fortunately, I wasn't the last one to do so."

Vincent stopped struggling and let himself transform back into his normal shape. Galian's lupine features faded and were replaced with the ones he'd been born with, and his clothes hung loosely over his body after they had been stretched to the breaking point by the demon's hugely muscled form. "Why?" Vincent asked. "Why are you helping Michael commit what's tantamount to genocide? Who were you in your past life?"

"You're not going to be able to extend your life by appealing to my ego, you know."

"If you have me completely at your mercy and there's no way I can escape, why are you hurrying to finish me off?" Vincent asked.

"If you really believe that you're completely at my mercy and you're going to die very soon, why are you curious?" Selaphiel shot back.

"There are lots of things in my life that I've left undone and expectations I've had that I never got to fulfill. If you really are a superior being, you should understand that curiosity, and the drive to see it satisfied even in the face of oblivion."

"You don't want to know, Vincent. You really don't."

"Indulge me."

Selaphiel sighed and lifted his hands in a gesture of exasperation. "Fine. If this is what you really want, then I'll tell you." He began to pace in a circle around Vincent. "Oh, and don't even think of trying to charge up an incinerating blast while I'm talking to you. If I get even a whiff of magic from you, I'll kill you right now, your curiosity be damned."

"Wasn't going to," Vincent said. "In this confined space it would kill me, after all."

"Of course. Still, we just talked about underestimating people, didn't we?" Selaphiel kept pacing and continued, "Have you considered what the Immaculate Swords are, Vincent? Do you know what it means to be an uplifted human?"

"Yes. I've fought enough of you by this point to be intimately familiar with what you can do."

"But do you know the reality of being uplifted, Vincent? It's a process unlike anything else in existence. Every human weakness is burned out of you – sadness, fear, morality, sexual desires – in most cases, at any rate – mercy, selfish love…" He stopped pacing and locked gazes with Vincent, his red eyes boring into Vincent's ruby ones. "The things that make you strong remain, of course. Ambition, anger, cunning, a desire – a craving, even – for power and strength. Those sorts of things.

"Occasionally, as in my case, some of the human weaknesses that are especially strong-rooted remain. My uplifting could not burn the desire to be able to protect people out of me. Why else do you think I fight with a wall, a shield? I can use it offensively in a myriad of ways, but it's always at its most effective when I'm shielding my comrades from harm with it."

"You don't seem like the type to want to protect people," Vincent said. "Not with the behavior you've exhibited. Not after you slaughtered twenty-eight people at that outpost just to lure me and my companions into a trap."

"They were small people," Selaphiel countered, his tone shading into anger. "Worthless people. None of them have been through what you and I have, Vincent. None of them carry the same guilt we do."

"Guilt?" Vincent asked. "I thought being uplifted should have burned any guilt out of you."

"It should have," Selaphiel said. "I wanted it to. That's why I accepted Uriel's offer, when he found me wandering aimlessly in the desert, looking to die. He said the process would make me stronger, help me shed the pathetic human frailties that made my existence torture. But he was wrong. It burned away everything except my guilt, and my desire to protect that one person that was most important to me. The one person I loved more than anything, and I wasn't even there to save her when she died."

Vincent felt a horrible, creeping suspicion begin to ooze into his mind. "Who?" he asked. "Who died? Who was it that you couldn't save?"

"I think you know, Vincent," Selaphiel said. "You know that the Angels shed their human names when they are uplifted. It's symbolic of rising above the baser aspects of humanity, of approaching divinity and taking on its aspect. Uriel used to be Peter Rodolphus. Michael used to be Zack Fair – Project R named him after his genetic template in order to put Cloud even more off-balance if the two ended up fighting." He drew even closer to Vincent, until all that separated them was the wall. "You know what my name used to be now, don't you?"

"No," Vincent whispered. "Not you."

"Do you think this is how I used to look?" Selaphiel asked. "Every uplifted human retains an ego image, and most are content to keep that image as their primary form. I wasn't. Every time I looked in the mirror I was reminded of my pathetic weakness. I had to make myself a face I didn't hate, something that was totally different from the one I used to have." As he spoke, his features seemed to melt, running together and transforming into a different face. His skin became flesh-colored, his hair shortened, darkened to brown, and became wavy rather than straight, and his eyes changed from red to a cool, deep blue.

Vincent stared into a face that he hadn't seen in decades, the face of a boy – a man – he had thought dead. "Denzel," he breathed.

"Yes," Selaphiel said. "That used to be my name. I used to be Denzel." He whirled away from Vincent and began to pace again, hands clasped behind his back, his expression one of tightly controlled fury. "You know about my past, Vincent. I was orphaned when the Sector Seven plate fell on my parents. I couldn't do anything to prevent their deaths, and that was only the beginning. I was adopted by Ruvie Tuesti, and she was very good to me, but when the first wave of Geostigma struck, she died right before my eyes and I was again unable to prevent it. When Cloud found me in Aerith's church two years later and brought me back to Seventh Heaven, I promised myself that I wouldn't let the same thing happen again. I wouldn't let anyone hurt the people I cared about." He looked over his shoulder at Vincent and said, "Especially not Tifa."

"I remember how you protected her during Bahamut SIN's attack," Vincent said wistfully, eyes unfocused and looking into the past. "You stood up to a monstrous summon all by yourself, with nothing but your bare hands." His expression hardened and his voice became severe. "What happened to that Denzel? Where did your courage go? How could you have made a deal with a viper like Uriel just to try to escape from your pain instead of confronting it?"

"I didn't come here to get a lecture from Uncle Vincent," Selaphiel sneered. "No. I came to kill you like I was instructed to, but instead I'm standing here talking with you and telling you who I used to be. You're right – what happened to my courage? Actually, forget my courage. What happened to my _sanity?_ I should have sent both you and your curiosity to Hell the second I had you in my grip!"

He whirled and looked ready to run Vincent through with a shockwave, but he lowered his hand after a moment, his shoulders slumping. "You don't know what it was like, Vincent. When I got the news that Tifa had been killed… I'd told her to be careful and she had said she would be fine. I felt betrayed, as though she had broken some solemn promise she'd made to me, and I felt disgusted that I could even think that, and I felt ashamed that I hadn't been there to help her. It was more than I could handle, more than anyone could handle. I left, thinking I would die alone in the desert.

"Almost ten years later, I was still alive. I didn't even have the courage to let myself die like I felt I deserved. I was still desperately clinging to life, moving from town to town, never staying anywhere. Finally, I forced myself out into the wild with no provisions, no gear, just the clothes on my back. I was going to die whether or not I wanted to, and it was going to be out of my power.

"That was when I met Uriel. He was moving through the Central Continent, looking for potential towns to raid for servants for the Immaculate Swords. He saw me and he recognized something in me – my grief, my pain, some kind of power that he never explained. All he asked me was if I wanted the pain to be gone and to be able to live a new, uplifted life." He smiled, but it was a bitter expression, full of loss. "As you can obviously see, I said yes."

"Denzel –" Vincent started.

"There is no more Denzel!" Selaphiel snapped. "I'm Selaphiel. I've been Selaphiel for almost twenty years, Vincent, and there's no going back to being Denzel! You aren't the same person you were, once you become uplifted. There's no magical cure to bring back the humanity you've sacrificed for power. You are a monster, through and through. You're so far gone that you can't even cry anymore."

"And how do you know that?" Vincent asked.

"Because there hasn't been a day since I became Selaphiel that I haven't felt the grief just as keenly, and there hasn't been a day that I haven't wanted to cry. And I can't, Vincent, because monsters don't shed tears. The only thing I gained from becoming this way, becoming Selaphiel, is that I'll carry my grief forever and never die." His brow furrowed and he looked at Vincent. "But you should know something about that too, shouldn't you?"

"Of course I do, but I've grown," Vincent said. "I'm not running away any longer. Not any more. Not like you are."

Selaphiel snarled. "I think I'm tired of this conversation now, Vincent. It's time for you to go." He stepped back from Vincent's prison and said, "Goodbye. I'd say that I'll see you in Hell, but I doubt I'm ever going to get there at this rate."

He drew back his hand and then hurled a shockwave at Vincent, the immense force shooting through the ground and kicking up twin waves of sand, one on either side of it. Vincent looked at his approaching doom with the kind of clarity he only ever found in moments that stood on the edge of a knife, when death was breathing in his ear and carefully slipping its silver garrote around his neck. He could see a shimmer in the sunlight, barely detectable, and he knew that this shockwave was big enough to cut him in two from his groin to his scalp.

He couldn't pound his way out of his prison, and he couldn't stop the shockwave before it hit him… unless…

Moving with lethal purpose, Vincent transformed his right arm into Galian's, sending energy cascading down it and collecting in burning points of light at his talons. He hadn't attempted a partial transformation yet, but it worked perfectly, and just as the shockwave began to slide easily through the walls keeping Vincent imprisoned, he lashed out in an energy blast that collided with the wave straight-on.

The shockwave exploded into a million glittering fragments, and the walls, destabilized by its halfway passage through them, also buckled under the strain. Vincent lashed out again, this time in a strike at the walls themselves, and they broke under his assault, taken out in the critical moment of weakness that Selaphiel hadn't anticipated. The look on his face was one of pure horror.

Vincent charged forward, transforming completely into Galian, and seized Selaphiel by the throat, hoisting him up into the air and pulling him within inches of Vincent's toothy maw. **"Go ahead,"** Vincent growled. **"Try something. At this range, I can channel Galian's energy all through my body and immolate myself in destructive force. You'll be reduced to a cinder in less than a second."** He looked at Selaphiel, straight into those familiar eyes, and said, **"I win."**

For a moment, he felt Selaphiel tense up, and then the man's face crumpled and he went limp in Vincent's grasp. "Yes," he sighed. "Yes, you do."

Vincent dropped him to the ground and stepped back a pace.

"What are you going to do, then?" Selaphiel asked. "You've countered every one of my tricks. At this point, I could keep fighting you, but it would be pointless. Any injuries I give you, you'd heal in a matter of minutes. There's no way I can land a lethal blow now that you've figured out all my strategies." He sighed. "Kill me."

" **I don't think so,"** Vincent said.

" _What?_ " Selaphiel asked, sitting up and looking at Vincent incredulously. "Why not?"

" **Because you want me to,"** Vincent hissed. **"Because you're too much of a damn coward to do it yourself, Denzel. That would just be you running away, one more time. I'm not going to let myself do that, so how could I let you do it?"** He turned away and began stalking off in the direction of New Nibelheim. **"If you're smart, you'll get out of here. Abandon the Immaculate Swords. Go and figure out how you're going to live with yourself, now that you're never going to die. Just don't try to follow or attack me, and don't even think of trying to attack Cloud or Red XIII."** He looked over his shoulder and his eyes flashed. **"You lose, Denzel. Now stop playing at 'Selaphiel' and get going."**

He slung the Peacekeeper across his back and took off on all fours for New Nibelheim again. He left Denzel sitting in the sand wanting to cry, but without tears to shed.


	27. Chapter 27

New Nibelheim was silent, as though the entire city was holding its breath. Vincent supposed that it actually was; the town knew exactly who was coming to dinner, perhaps quite literally.

His muscles ached after running for almost two straight hours, but he stumbled to a halt outside the city gates and shifted back into his normal form before shouting, "It's Vincent Valentine! Let me in!"

On top of the wall ringing the city, Marlene stepped forward and looked down at Vincent. "If you're really Vincent," she called, "tell me something that only you know."

"You had a crush on that boy Anthony Woil in the third grade!"

Marlene felt herself blush a little bit at that memory and said to the soldier next to her, "It's Vincent, all right. Let him in." She looked back down and called, "Where are Cloud and Red XIII? I thought you guys were flying here!"

"We were! It's complicated!"

The gate to the city ground open, and Vincent strode inside and surveyed the defenses. The walls surrounding the city were about fifty feet high, not an insurmountable height but good enough, and were made of concrete. Within the city, people sat on their porches or at their windows, clutching hunting rifles and other guns, looking scared but ready to defend their home. The entire Protectorate army stood on the wall, nearly a thousand strong, armed to the teeth with all the guns and ammunition that the organization had been able to muster on short notice.

Vincent grimaced and began to climb up the stairs that led to the top of the defensive wall. It would all amount to nothing if the Angels or other uplifted humans got inside. Michael could probably take all one thousand of these soldiers single-handedly, if the power curve amongst the Angels worked like Vincent thought it did.

"What happened?" Marlene asked him when he got to the top of the wall. "We were counting on having Cloud and Red XIII here to help."

"You'll just have to make do with me until they can get here," Vincent said grimly. "The Protectorate outpost between here and Old Nibelheim was attacked. We put down to investigate, and Selaphiel, the Fifth Angel, ambushed us and put our attack transport out of commission. I got here when I did only because… well. I've discovered some new abilities."

"How long until they can get here?" Marlene asked. "And what about Selaphiel? Did you kill him when he ambushed you?"

"We fought," Vincent replied. "He… I managed to beat him without having to kill him. He's no longer an immediate threat."

"That's good, I guess. I just hope that doesn't come back to bite us."

Vincent nodded. He'd already decided against telling Marlene that Selaphiel was actually Denzel. The two had been very close, and right up until Tifa's death they'd remained excellent friends, almost like siblings that never fought. Then Denzel had left, and Marlene had begun to grow bitter and to distance herself from her friends, burying herself in her work and not letting any emotion through to the surface. Obviously he had meant a lot to her, and his leaving had torn her up inside.

"What's the situation here, then?" Vincent asked.

"The entire army is inside New Nibelheim, manning the wall," Marlene said. "We're pulling out all the stops. When the enemy shows up, we're going to activate the minefield we laid out around the city. It's a good thing I ordered it disabled until you got here, otherwise you might have gotten an unpleasant surprise."

"Cloud and Red XIII are still four hours out at best, but they'll be approaching on foot," Vincent said.

"Scouts report that the enemy is two hours away, give or take fifteen minutes. If we're still alive in four hours, I'll make sure to disable the minefield again. There probably won't be enough of it left to make a difference." Marlene patted a remote that she wore at her belt. It had a numeric keypad and several other buttons. "The disarm code, by the way, is oh-nine-three-two-seven. Just in case something happens to me and I can't get to it."

"Marlene…"

She waved away his concern. "Got to be practical, Vincent. You know as well as I do that we probably aren't going to be coming back from this fight. Not when we're facing twelve hundred Losts and five very powerful Angels plus their retinue of less powerful uplifteds."

"But if we go into this expecting the worst, it follows that it's more likely to happen," Vincent said. "What you have to do is walk into a fight without pessimism, knowing that you're ready for battle while maintaining a clear head and avoiding overconfidence. Just think of everything you have to live for and everyone you need to protect, and you'll be fine."

Marlene sighed. "I know all that, Vincent. I just…" She shrugged. "I tend to think realistically. People that I love and care about – Dad, Tifa, Uncle Cid, Denzel – just keep dying or disappearing. The fact that Cloud came back is only one bright spot in a lot of darkness." She looked up at him and smiled, and for a moment he could almost see the little girl again, asking if she could use the phone that he didn't have. "Cloud, you, Red XIII, Yuffie, Reeve – you're all I really have left, and that's not going to last forever, either."

"Marlene…"

Acting on an impulse, she pulled him into a tight hug. Vincent stiffened and stood awkwardly for a moment, arms at his sides, before his brain kicked in and he wrapped his arms around her. "It's just hard to stay bright and positive and keep living in a world like this," she said, her voice muffled against his chest. "And I'm sorry that I've been so cold to you in the past, Vincent. I remember when I only came up to your waist, all those years ago, and you still look exactly like you did when I first met you… Sometimes I just get so damn jealous."

Vincent felt a scowl play over his face, but it wasn't because of her admission. He was intimately familiar with the jealousy and antipathy that his immortality inspired in others. Barret and Cid had given him a very rough time as they'd gotten older, slapping him on the back and lightly cursing him for his eternal youth when deep in their hearts they'd known they secretly hated him, just a little bit. And he'd known it too, which was why he'd taken the ribbings and the teasing without complaint.

"It's all right," he said. "You don't have anything to apologize for. I… I don't know exactly how you feel, but I have an idea." He drew away from her and gave her a smile. "Just a little one, but still."

She nodded and wiped at her eyes, then was quickly back to business. "All right, then. I just didn't want anything to happen without getting that off my chest. I didn't want us to get split up, maybe forever, without the air being clear between us."

"I appreciate that," he said. "And the air is very clear. Don't worry about that." He waited a beat and then tactfully changed the subject. "So, what's the plan? When they approach, you're going to activate the minefield and I assume commence long-range bombardment. Anything beyond that?"

"No matter how much firepower we throw at them, they're eventually going to get up the wall," Marlene said. "They're Losts, which means they're resilient and fast. When they start climbing, we have several options. We can hold our ground and try to shoot them off as they come. The problem with that is our attention will be on the Losts in the front line, meaning the ones in the back have an easier time getting to us, which means we have more to deal with in the long run. We can focus on keeping them from getting to the wall, and hope we don't let too many through. The ones that do make it – hopefully we'll be able to handle them on an individual basis. The problem with that is if they start punching holes in our lines, the entire defense is going to buckle and collapse.

"The third option is the most drastic, but I've received permission from New Nibelheim's city council and mayor to implement it as a last resort. The wall has hollow areas for storage and the like. We've filled these with every last explosive that we brought with us."

"I see," Vincent said. "When the Losts start getting up the wall, we begin a tactical retreat, let them take it, and try to keep them on it. Then when we've pulled everyone back and we feel that there are a good number of Losts on the wall, we blow it and take all of them out."

"Exactly," Marlene agreed. "The risk there is that it'll pretty much leave us defenseless against any further waves of Losts that survive and get into the city. On top of that, none of the three plans really deal with the presence of the Angels or uplifted humans. We were counting on having you, Cloud, and Red XIII here to handle them. Since we just have you, our defense against grave individual threats is going to suffer."

"Not," a familiar, airy voice said, "if you have help."

Vincent whirled to see Selaphiel becoming visible behind him. The Angel had reverted to using his artificial face, and Marlene swore at the sight of the man's grey visage and brilliant red eyes. She went for her sidearm, but Selaphiel held up both his hands in a placating gesture. "Wait," he said. "I'm not here to fight you. I'm here to help you."

"Is that so?" Marlene asked, drawing her pistol and leveling it at Selaphiel's head. "Because according to Vincent, you were trying to kill him barely two hours ago."

"And Vincent is right," Selaphiel said. "We were enemies only that long ago, but… Some things were said during that fight. Things that made me think, made me reconsider my place in the world and what I'm doing with my life." He looked at Vincent. "I thought about what you told me," he continued. "About running away. I decided I'm not going to do that any longer."

"So you say," Vincent said. "But this is a very sudden change of heart for you. What I told you was true, but I don't think I'm quite _that_ persuasive. Going against your own side now seems a bit suspicious."

Selaphiel sighed. "I want to help. Uriel obviously didn't deliver on his promises to burn my weaknesses away with the uplifting, because I still feel grief and I still want to protect the people I care deeply about." He looked at Marlene and said, "And you, Marlene, are one of those people. I know that if I helped Michael again, or even if I just stood on the sidelines and did nothing, it would be the same as killing you myself, and I can't do that. Not after what Vincent made me see and made me admit."

"You," Marlene said, "are an obsequious creep. I've never met you before in my life. Where do you get off, claiming that you care deeply about me?"

Selaphiel's gaze flicked to Vincent for a moment and then centered back on Marlene. "If you really want to know," he said, "I'll show you." His features melted again, just as they had in front of Vincent, and they reformed themselves into the familiar visage of a man that Marlene hadn't seen in more than thirty years. He looked almost the same as he had when she had first met him as a child, except for the fact that his jaw was stronger, his eyes had a depth to them that hadn't been there before, and his hair was longer, hanging down to his collar.

"Do you understand what I'm talking about now?" Denzel asked Marlene.

Marlene stared at him, completely at a loss for words. Finally, she asked, "Denzel… is that you?"

"It is," Denzel said. "At least, I used to be Denzel. I'm not really sure who I am – not anymore."

"No, you're Denzel all right," Marlene said. "Do you know what I've wanted to say to you ever since you left, Denzel?"

"What, Marlene?"

He staggered backward as she threw a brutal right cross that smashed him across his face. "You asshole, what the hell did you think you were doing?" she demanded, fury written all over her face. "You just up and left without saying anything to anyone – not even me! Why the hell are you coming back now and expecting everything to be fine? We don't _need_ your help, you bastard! Go back to whatever hole you crawled out from and rot there!"

"Marlene, I know I hurt you –"

"Damn straight you did! You walked out without even saying goodbye to your oldest and best friend. Or did you think that I wouldn't care?"

"Marlene," Vincent said, interposing himself between the two of them. "Selaphiel – Denzel – whoever he is, he's offering aid that we can't afford to turn down. I don't care how you feel about him or how much he hurt you in the past, this is the present and we need all the manpower we can get. I've seen him fight – as you know – and we can use his help. He'll be able to save dozens, maybe even hundreds, of lives just by being here." He looked at Denzel and said, "You'll be working with me. You do as I tell you, without question. If you agree to these conditions, then I'll let you help."

"That's fine," Denzel said. "I… anything to blunt the grief. Even a little bit." He looked past Vincent at Marlene. "Anything to keep her alive."

Marlene huffed at him, holstered her pistol, and turned on her heel. "I'll be prepping the troops if you need to find me, Vincent," she called over her shoulder. "You make sure that bastard is really on our side in the meantime."

"Will do," he called after her before turning back to Denzel and moving so close to him that their noses almost touched. "I will be keeping a _very_ close eye on you," he growled. He let a little of Galian's power come to the surface, just enough to change his voice and turn his eyes that feral yellow. **"If you show even the slightest sign that you're not completely sincere – if you hesitate even a little when you're fighting your comrades – I'll kill you myself. You know I can."**

Denzel nodded. "I know."

Vincent submerged Galian again and asked, "So. How'd you know that Marlene was here?"

"I didn't. After you left, I thought about what you had said, about running away, about how I should stop playing at being Selaphiel. I thought back to everything I've done since Uriel made me this way, and I asked myself if the uplifting had made me a stronger person." Denzel cast his eyes to the ground. "The only answer I could come to was that I'd just made myself weaker by accepting his offer. Instead of trying to deal with my grief and confront it head-on, I tried to get rid of it with a cheap trick. And when that didn't work, I couldn't even try to take solace in anything else, because I'd put my humanity on the altar and killed it for power. All I had left was my power, and my grief, and my desire to protect people when doing just that would make me a traitor to the people I'd sold my soul to."

"Which wasn't a step you were willing to take," Vincent said. "You decided you would rather live with your grief and ignore your instincts than try to set things right and acknowledge the colossal mistake you made." Even as the words left his mouth, he knew that he was describing himself as much as he was describing Denzel. The man was a mirror for Vincent, revealing with his own actions all the mistakes that Vincent had made throughout his life… especially with Yuffie. He felt a pang of deep-seated regret at the thought of her. The image of her eyes filling up with tears as he'd told her they were finished rose into his mind's eye.

No, he was definitely going to throw himself on Yuffie's mercy and apologize when he got back. When he survived this. She might not even forgive him, but that wasn't the point. He had to make amends for what he'd done, even if he could never truly fix it.

"Yes," Denzel said. "I remember… it was only a few days ago, but it feels like forever. When Uriel brought the three of you into the council room, all of you looking just like you had the last time I'd seen you – except Red, he was a bit older and a bit scruffier – I almost lost it. It was all I could do to keep my cool façade. Michael obviously noticed, because the assignment, the destruction of the outpost, was a test. To see if I could stand up to the three of you and not betray his confidence." He sighed. "I obviously failed."

"And what about the people you killed?" Vincent asked. "Two hours ago you were ranting about how small and insignificant they were. You were completely unashamed and unrepentant, and now you suddenly want to protect Marlene and save all of these people from your former allies. You understand why I'm having a hard time accepting your change of heart."

"I was a different man back then!"

"'Back then' meaning two hours ago?" Vincent sighed.

"I know this is hard for you to believe, Vincent, but this is the only thing I can do to prove that I want to change. This is all I have left! Don't deny me the chance to make amends in some small way. I know those people can never be brought back, and I know their families will never forgive me – and neither will their friends, or anyone, for that matter, probably. But I have to try. Please." He looked at Vincent, and something in his expression screamed that he meant this, that he was sincere. "Please, Vincent."

"I've already told you that we're not going to turn away your help," Vincent said. "But this is not over, Denzel. However contrite you are now, you're still going to be held accountable for what you did. I won't have it any other way."

"I know you won't. I'm ready to accept whatever consequences are in store for me."

Vincent nodded and turned away, beckoning for Denzel to follow him. He wanted to have a closer look at the Protectorate army's preparations in the scant amount of time that remained to them.

It was just as well that Cloud and Red XIII weren't here. Even given their previous history with Denzel – especially Cloud's – the two of them probably would only have felt betrayed and hurt, just as Marlene had. They wouldn't have been able to look past Denzel's actions to see the intent behind his apparently sudden contrition.

Vincent, however, knew how Denzel felt. He was going through precisely the same thing. Still, he resolved that even if he was going to be empathetic, he wasn't going to let it cloud his judgment. The instant he felt even a bit of deceit from Denzel, he was going to make sure the man could never hurt anyone again. Just because he thought he understood didn't mean he was going to blind himself to the very real threat that Denzel represented.

"Come on," Vincent said. "Let's go and inspect the troops. After all, we have a battle to fight."


	28. Chapter 28

As Cloud and Red XIII continued to trudge across the landscape, fighting the urge to take sips from their canteens, Cloud felt his mind beginning to wander. It was hard to stay focused when there was nothing to look at but bleak desert and his companion wasn't in the mood for talking.

They'd been walking for two and a half hours and they still hadn't run into Vincent or Selaphiel. Cloud took this as a sign – either a battle hadn't occurred, or it had and Vincent had managed to beat the Fifth Angel or at least fight him to a draw. Maybe this was just optimism on his part, but with Vincent's new powers he didn't think that anyone short of Uriel would be a serious threat.

It was at times like this when he found he missed Tifa the most. Back when they had been part of AVALANCHE, she would always have something positive to say, an optimistic word to spur everyone on when they felt like dropping to the ground and not moving.

He would give a lot to have her back with him right now.

Cloud took another step and a sense of vertigo hit him, so powerful that he had to squeeze his eyes shut and stop moving. He opened his eyes and blinked in surprise.

Everything had changed. He was no longer in the desert, walking with Red XIII toward a battle that would decide the fate of thousands. He was lying in bed, on the top floor of Seventh Heaven.

Slowly, not believing what he was seeing – and feeling, smelling, hearing, and touching, on top of that – Cloud sat up in bed and analyzed what his senses were telling him. He was in the bedroom he shared with Tifa in Seventh Heaven. Sunlight streamed through the blinds on the windows in the east wall of the room. The bed was pushed into a corner between the north and west walls, and to the left of the bed in the north wall was the door to the room, which led to the staircase outside. Set against the south wall were a vanity with a large mirror and a wardrobe to its right, and to the right of the wardrobe was the doorway that led into the master bathroom.

Cloud shifted and felt the sheets against his bare skin. He was only wearing a set of linen pajama pants that Tifa had bought him; he was bare-chested and barefoot otherwise. The pants had a crisscrossing green and black plaid pattern on them and when Cloud touched them they felt entirely real. He rolled out of bed and felt the wood floor against the soles of his feet. Moving to the entrance of the room, he could smell something cooking downstairs, and his stomach made it clear that he was hungry. Completely confused but staying wary, Cloud quietly made his way down the stairs and walked into the kitchen.

He stepped on the one creaky board that they could never quite fix as he did so, and the person in the kitchen started and turned to look at him. Her features were all familiar to him – dark, wine-colored eyes, straight black hair that fell nearly to her waist, pale skin and beautiful features that made his pulse quicken and his breath catch in his throat. She was wearing a robe with a plaid pattern almost identical to the one on his pajama pants. It was secured at the waist with a simple sash, and it hung open at the neck just enough to reveal the long, white scar that started above her right breast and slashed diagonally across her ribcage where Sephiroth had struck her with the Masamune during the Nibelheim incident.

"Morning, sleepy," Tifa said to Cloud. She looked him up and down, eyes lingering on his mussed hair and bare chest. "You look cute today."

Cloud stood there in total shock, mouth agape, for at least five seconds. "…Tifa…"

She raised an eyebrow at him and gave him a mischievous smile. "Not feeling flirty without your coffee, Cloud?"

"You're dead."

The smile slipped off of her face. "…What?"

Cloud began to slowly back away from her. He bumped into the wall behind him and began to slide across it toward the kitchen door. "You're dead. You've been dead for more than thirty years. All of this is just some kind of hallucination. I have heat stroke or something."

Tifa frowned, looking genuinely concerned, and pushed aside the bowl she had been cracking eggs into. "What are you talking about, Cloud? Are you feeling okay?"

She started to move toward him, and he bolted out of the kitchen, charging through the bar and throwing open the front door. He stepped outside into Edge City. Everything was exactly like he remembered it – towering buildings composed of scrap, a predominant smell of rust, and off in the distance gleamed the WRO Tower, a shining, silver beacon of hope in an otherwise gunmetal-grey city.

Cloud stopped dead, staring at his surroundings, and people in the street began to look at him, probably wondering what the hell this shirtless weirdo was doing outside. He jerked as he felt Tifa's hand on his shoulder and he whirled about, forcing himself not to snap into a defensive stance. "Come back inside," she said to him, her tone brooking no argument. "You're not feeling well."

"Stay away from me," Cloud said. "You can't be real. None of this is."

The people in the street were starting to murmur, so Tifa took decisive action. She grabbed Cloud by the arm, her grip tightening when he tried to wrench his arm free, and pulled him back inside, shutting the door behind them. As soon as they were alone she spun him around and held him by the shoulders. "Look at me," she said. "Cloud, do you know who I am? Do you know where you are?"

"Of course I do," Cloud whispered hoarsely. "You're Tifa and this is Seventh Heaven and Edge, but it can't be real. You're dead, and Seventh Heaven is gone or abandoned, and Edge is also abandoned and full of Losts and monsters."

"I think you must have had some kind of nightmare," Tifa mused. "You probably ate something that disagreed with you."

"I don't think so," Cloud said, managing to disengage himself from her grip. "The men from Project R came, and I ended up frozen in stasis for forty-five years while the world went straight to Hell. You died, Barret and Cid died, Yuffie is old and she hates it, Reeve is old and blind, Marlene is older than I am and Denzel is missing…"

Before he could keep babbling, Tifa put a finger to his lips and gently shushed him. "I can't believe I'm saying this to a grown man," she said with only a hint of reproach in her tone, "but it's all right, Cloud. You just had a bad dream." She paused and added, "A really, _really_ bad dream, apparently."

"It was all so real, though!" Cloud protested. "The grief – the things Vincent and I went through – I took this cocktail of hallucinogens and mako and talked with your departed spirit or something –"

Tifa cut him off by pressing herself up against him, encircling his neck with her arms, and kissing him. Cloud felt an electric thrill run through his body at the familiar feeling of her lips, and he returned the kiss in spite of the rational part of him, which was screaming at him and saying this wasn't right. He stroked her tongue with his own, remembering all the times he had done this, and began to wrap his arms around her. She caught his wrist and guided his hand to her chest, pressing his palm flat against her breastbone. Feeling the slightly raised, rougher skin of her scar, Cloud moved his hand down and traced the white mark with his forefinger, following it down between her breasts to where it terminated on the lower left side of her ribcage.

She broke off the kiss long enough to ask in a low, husky voice, "Still think I'm not real?"

Cloud smiled sheepishly at her. This couldn't possibly be a dream or a hallucination. Every detail of her – the smell of her hair, the feel of the scar he had touched so many times – was just as he remembered it. He tried to think back to that strange and frightening post-Fall Gaea and found that he was already forgetting small details, just like it was a dream. Something in her voice soothed the warning bells in his mind and put him at ease. "I'm sorry, Tifa. I… I really don't know what came over me."

She smiled at him, warm and loving, and any last vestiges of doubt were swept away like footprints in the sand at high tide. "So," she murmured. "If you'd care to stop feeling me up, I'll go back to making breakfast, okay?"

Cloud blinked and then realized exactly where his hand was. He coughed and retrieved his extremity from beneath Tifa's robe, feeling his cheeks burn a little. "Sorry."

"It's fine. It was sort of my fault, you know." She moved back to the kitchen and he followed her, suddenly unwilling to be apart from her when only a minute ago he'd been trying to flee from her. "Hope you're in the mood for eggs," Tifa continued, "because they're pretty much all that's left in the house. Well, them and the coffee."

Cloud a red flag go up in the back of his mind at the mention of the coffee, but he put it down to leftover jitters after that dream. "Is there any left in the pot?" he asked.

Tifa motioned at the coffee maker. "I left you a mug's worth, like always."

True to her word, Tifa had left a mug's worth of coffee in the pot, which Cloud proceeded to pour for himself. He took a cautious sip, not wanting to burn his tongue, and instinctively made a face. Tifa saw it before he could disguise it and said, sounding disappointed, "You don't like it."

"It's not your fault," Cloud quickly assured her. "It's just… the brand. That's it. I was meaning to tell you I don't really like the brand you've been getting because it's just too strong for me. We should switch." He suddenly felt a wave of déjà vu hit him but he had no idea why.

"Of course, Cloud. I'll get something a bit less black." Tifa smiled at him and then turned her attention to whisking the eggs. "By the way, don't you have a delivery or something to make soon? You should get dressed."

"I'm not going anywhere today," Cloud replied. "That dream… ugh." He shuddered at a half-remembered image of some kind of creature, twisted and bent until it was horribly deformed, with enormous, soulless eyes and razor-sharp teeth. "Even if I have something on the schedule, it can wait. I'm staying home today." A thought occurred to him and he asked, "By the way, where are Marlene and Denzel?"

"They caught the bus to school before you woke up, but Barret is in town, so he's going to pick both of them up after school and take them over to his place for the night. We're going to have the place to ourselves."

Cloud made an appreciative noise. "Sounds nice. Is there anything special you want to do?"

Tifa glanced over her shoulder at Cloud and looked him up and down in the same way she had when he'd first walked into the kitchen. "I have some ideas," she said, her lips curving into a small smile.

It was Cloud's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Really."

"Really. But for right now, let's just go ahead and have breakfast. After all, we have all the time in the world, right?"

* * *

The eggs had been good, but they were nowhere near as good as what happened after Cloud and Tifa finished eating. Tifa cleared the dishes off of the table and put them in the sink, then turned around to see Cloud giving her a look that might be described as smoldering.

Half an hour later, Tifa adjusted her robe and said, "Well. I think we should make sure not to eat off of that table for a while."

Cloud grinned. "It was worth it." He stretched and said, "I feel like I need a shower. You want to join me?"

Tifa laughed. It was a light, airy sound that inspired deep happiness in him. He hadn't heard it in what felt like forever – which was a strange thought, considering that they lived together and had a very healthy relationship, if what had just gone on was any indication. That strange, half-remembered dream was still throwing him off. "I don't think so. You always hog the hot water and leave me standing there shivering."

"I do not!" Cloud protested.

"You're also a terrible liar."

"I…" He trailed off and sighed. "I guess you're right. I'll see you in a bit."

"Don't keep me waiting too long," she called as he started up the stairs.

"I won't," he called back.

Cloud took a quick shower and came out feeling refreshed and reinvigorated. Despite the strange dreams he'd had, today was going to be a good day. He could feel it in his bones, an inexplicable certainty that defied logic or rationale. Tromping back down the stairs, he called, "Do you want to go out for lunch?"

"I could do that," Tifa replied, her voice sounding like she was in the bar. Sure enough, when Cloud got down there she was behind the counter, still in that robe, cleaning what was left of last night's dirty glasses. She shot him a look to match the one he'd given her earlier and added, "After what happened at breakfast, I'm almost hungry again."

Cloud grinned sheepishly and scratched at his head, not quite sure how to respond. "What do you feel like? Wutainese? Mideelan? Gongagan?"

She shrugged. "I don't care, Cloud. Whatever you like."

"Well, there's that one Mideelan place you like."

"Which one is that?"

"I don't know, it's got a name as long as my arm. I always forget it."

Tifa sighed. "Well, that's no good, then. Let's just go for a walk and see what we run across. It feels like it's been forever since we just had a day to ourselves and could go for a walk together."

"I hear that," Cloud murmured.

"In that case, since you're done, I'm going to go take a shower myself. I shouldn't be long." Tifa put the last glass back on the shelf and wiped her hands on a towel. "Be back in a little bit."

She started up the stairs, and on an impulse Cloud couldn't entirely articulate, he said, "Tifa?"

Tifa turned to look at him. "Yes?"

"I love you."

For a moment Tifa looked taken aback at Cloud's sudden outburst – for him, this certainly merited that description – but then she smiled, her eyes full of warmth, and she replied, "I love you too, Cloud."

He smiled, a genuine smile that felt like his first in ages, and a sense of complete calm and peace washed through him. Tifa blew him a quick kiss and ascended the stairs, and Cloud sat down at the bar and pulled out his phone. As usual, he had several messages that he hadn't listened to yet, so he put the device to his ear and dialed his voicemail.

The first message was from Barret. It told Cloud nothing he didn't already know – namely, that the man was picking up Marlene and Denzel from school and taking them back to his place for the night to stay up late watching horror films or something similarly traumatizing. He'd probably be sitting up with the kids for a week after Barret was done with them… but it couldn't be as bad as the time Vincent had babysat.

The second message was from Cid. Apparently the pilot wanted help with some WRO sting operation in a week or two, hitting a crime-lord operating in Edge's east end. Cloud got the feeling that Cid didn't actually need the help so much as he missed the old days when they were all very close and worked together constantly but had too much pride to admit it.

The third and final message was from Yuffie, who had very obviously drunk-dialed Cloud in a fit of pique. He caught something lewd about riding Vincent and deleted the message with a snort. Yuffie when she was drunk was a terror, and he wondered how Vincent could tolerate being with her on nights like that. He supposed that was just what people who loved one another did.

There was something strange about that thought, specifically in how it pertained to Vincent and Yuffie. Cloud frowned and tried to put his finger on it, but nothing came and he eventually let it go. He was just still a little put off by the dream he'd had last night, surely. He remembered having nightmares about everyone he knew dying, but none of them had ever quite unnerved him this deeply.

He was sure it would pass.

* * *

Lunch had been nice. They'd finally found the Mideelan place that Tifa liked after walking for an hour, and they'd sat down and eaten outside. Just as they were finishing, the sky had clouded over, and on their way back to Seventh Heaven, it had started to rain. First it had just been a drizzle, but by the time they got back to the bar, both of them were thoroughly soaked.

"And we both just took showers," Cloud muttered as he closed the door behind them, dripping wet. "Great."

Tifa laughed and shook her head, careful to do it slowly so as not to send droplets of water flying everywhere. "Look at it this way, Cloud. This gives us an opportunity we didn't have before."

"What's that?" Cloud asked, still feeling irritated that his parade had been quite literally rained on.

He felt the irritation begin to evaporate faster than standing water in a desert when Tifa turned around, looked up at him from beneath her lashes, and said, "Now you get to dry me off."

Cloud felt his cheeks burn and he coughed. "Tifa, it's only two in the afternoon…"

"Like I said before," she murmured, bringing her mouth close to his ear so her breath played across it, "we have all the time in the world. Right, Cloud?" He stiffened as he felt her teeth clamp gently down on his earlobe for a moment before she let go, drew back a step, and beckoned him to follow her up the stairs.

Cloud didn't need to be told twice.

They climbed the stairs, deliberately taking their time. Cloud followed Tifa into their bedroom and quietly shut the door behind him, while Tifa moved across the room to the nightstand adjacent to the bed. She opened the large cabinet on the bottom, revealing the small boombox they kept in it, and pressed a button. The sound of soft, classical music suddenly filled the room, and she looked up at Cloud with a knowing glance. Cloud grinned and moved toward her; Tifa always enjoyed having some quiet music playing in the background and he didn't mind it.

The two of them had their clothes on the floor and were in bed together inside of a minute, and the music played gently in the background as they went at it like Cloud had just gotten out of prison. It was strange – Cloud knew on an academic level that he loved Tifa and was very attracted to her, but his appetites seemed to be those of a man who hadn't had any physical intimacy in months.

It took the better part of an hour for him to finally collapse – bathed in sweat and completely exhausted – next to Tifa, who looked to be in about the same shape. He glanced at her, still breathing hard, and grinned. "Sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me today."

Tifa rolled her eyes. "What do you mean, what's wrong? Up until today I thought the refractory period was a curse." She sighed and rolled over to rest her head on his shoulder. "You're obviously feeling frisky for some reason."

"I don't know why," Cloud said. "And things have been bugging me all day, too. I feel like I've been gone for a long time, or everyday facts of life seem like they're not as obvious as they should be."

"Well, when you woke up you were half-delusional. I bet you're still a bit weirded out by that nightmare you had."

"That's what I keep telling myself, but…" Cloud broke off as a familiar tune came soothingly from the music player in the nightstand and an intense feeling of déjà vu hit him, more poignant and specific than anything else of the same nature that he'd felt. "This song," he said, sitting up in bed and letting Tifa's head slip off of his shoulder onto a pillow. "This is one of your favorites, right?"

"Mm-hmm." Tifa reached up a hand to pull Cloud back down, but he resisted. "Something the matter?"

Cloud frowned, racking his brains for the answer to that question and coming up empty. "I…" What was this feeling? Why was there a sudden sense of wrongness that permeated every aspect of his being? It had to do with the music, that much was for sure. He felt like he should know the name of the composition, and when he considered why, he realized that he was absolutely positive that Tifa had told him it at some point. "Tifa, what's the name of this piece?"

She shrugged. "I have no idea. Lie back down, you're more comfortable than the pillow."

Her words hit him like a slap to the face. Cloud knew, with unwavering certainty, that she should know the name of this piece, that she was the one who had told him. The more he considered it, the more positive he became rather than less. Tifa had told him the name of the piece when… when…

Cloud stumbled out of bed, clutching at his head and groaning. "Are you all right?" Tifa asked, sitting up with concern written all over her face.

"No," Cloud said. Clarity was returning to his mind, accompanied by the terrible, inescapable truth that none of this could be real. He'd been feeling déjà vu because this was the day that he'd walked out on Tifa after asking her to buy a different brand of coffee. They hadn't had breakfast together or had sex on the kitchen table. He hadn't told her he loved her. The men from Project R had shown up and he'd never seen her again.

It hadn't been a dream.

"What? What's wrong?"

Cloud turned around and saw Tifa for what she really was. She was a simulacrum, a false Tifa who believed herself to be real, a construct made from his memories of her before he'd left on this fateful day and he had never seen her again. She had been utterly convincing because she really did love him. Even if it was because she had to, even if it was the reason she had been created, the fact remained that she did, and that made what he had to do even harder.

"I have to go, Tifa," he said, turning around and moving back to the side of the bed.

Confusion clouded her face. "Go where? What's wrong, Cloud? Tell me. I want to be able to help you."

Cloud swallowed and gave her a wan smile. "I know you want to, Tifa, and I appreciate that, but you can't. I can't explain what's wrong, and you can't come with me and you can't help me." He sat down on the bed next to her and pulled her into a hug, holding her tightly, not wanting to ever let go. "I'm sorry."

She returned his embrace, her eyes beginning to fill with tears. "I don't understand," she said. "Cloud, is it something I did?"

"No," he whispered. "No, Tifa, this isn't your fault at all. You're perfect, I promise that you are." After another moment, he forced himself to let go of her, and he wiped away the tears that were rolling down her face before gently giving her a chaste, lingering kiss. "I love you."

Before she could respond, he whirled about and ran straight at the window. Cloud sprang straight through the glass, shattering it and lacing his body with cuts, and exploded out into the world. The rain was pouring in sheets and he was instantly soaked again, but that didn't matter because a second later he plummeted straight toward the ground, head-first, and when he hit –


	29. Chapter 29

Cloud jerked violently out of his reverie, his eyes snapping open. He was lying on his back on the ground. The sun had set and it was dark out now, telling him that he had been in that trance, hallucination, whatever it had been, for hours. He swore, knowing that the battle for New Nibelheim was probably already over at this point, and sat up so he could have a look around. Red XIII lay in the sand next to him, his good eye closed, twitching every so often. He was obviously dreaming, just like Cloud had been.

There was a third person with the two of them. Sitting several feet away was Raphael. Her eyes were also closed, her beautiful, delicate features smooth and calm, but when Cloud reached for the First Tsurugi she opened her eyes. Their deep purple met Cloud's glowing blue as the two of them locked gazes, and she said, "So you saw through the dream I spun for you."

Cloud screamed, an expulsion of pure hurt and rage, and threw himself at the Third Angel, spirit energy flaming up all along his body. He smashed his fist into her face, the force of the blow fracturing her skull and sending her flying ten feet before she skidded to a halt in the sand.

"Do you know," Cloud growled at her, "what you just put me through?" He got to his feet and pulled the First Tsurugi out of its harness, hefting its familiar weight. "Do you know what you made me do?"

Raphael stumbled to her feet, fluid streaming from her nose. "I should. I watched you do it."

Cloud rocketed forward and skewered Raphael through the torso with the First Tsurugi, sinking the enormous blade into her until it erupted out her back in a spray of JENOVA-disease fluid. "It was like losing her all over again," Cloud snarled at her, spirit energy still rising from him in waves. "You dangled what could have been in front of me, showed the happiness that Tifa and I could have had, and then you made me throw it out like it was worthless!"

Despite the enormous sword piercing straight through her body where her heart should be, Raphael smiled at Cloud. "I know," she said. "Do you hate me for it?"

"YES!" Spirit energy roared through Cloud's legs and blasted against the ground, sending him into an explosive leap that tore the First Tsurugi straight up through Raphael's head and took Cloud thirty feet into the air. "WHAT THE HELL KIND OF QUESTION IS THAT?" he screamed, slashing out in a Blade Beam that roared down and exploded against the Third Angel, flinging black liquid everywhere. "YES, I HATE YOU FOR IT!" He came down in a Braver that blasted what little was left of Raphael into a fine mist.

The mist solidified into liquid and the bits and pieces of the woman shot through the air to reform some ten feet from him. The black mass shuddered and morphed back into a recognizable humanoid form, and Raphael's intense purple eyes were staring at Cloud a moment later. "Good," she said. "Get mad, Cloud Strife. Hate me. Loathe me. I won't protest or try to fight back. Just promise me that you'll get angry."

Cloud screamed again and charged Raphael in a Cross Slash that hacked her into three different pieces that slid to the ground and landed with a wet _smack._ "I don't know what game you're playing," Cloud said, his eyes blazing, "but you're going to regret this. If it's the last thing I do, I'm going to make you wish you'd never been born."

He tore into her ruthlessly, slashing and hacking, blasting her with spirit energy and even beating at her with his bare hands. She never resisted, never put up a fight, and it began to drag on, seconds becoming minutes and minutes piling up until he had been mercilessly killing her for a quarter of an hour.

Cloud didn't care. It would never be enough for him. Not after what the woman had done to him. Not after she had taken Tifa away from him a second time.

He kept killing her.

* * *

Hours earlier, Vincent stood on the walls of New Nibelheim, watching the Immaculate Swords' army as it approached.

It was a shifting mass of horror, the Losts marching in a vague semblance of order as they shambled toward the city. Striding at the head of the army was Michael, the hood of his robe thrown back to let everyone see his face as the sun edged its way down toward the horizon. Standing to his right was Gabriel, who was still hunched over and shuffled rather than actually walked. To his left was Uriel, whose face Vincent couldn't see at this distance but who he assumed looked smugly superior.

The army halted several hundred feet away from the walls of the city. Vincent darted a glance to his right, glancing at Denzel. The man looked stoically composed, his lips drawn into a thin line, his arms crossed. Vincent still had his doubts about how devoted Denzel was to redeeming himself, but at this point he was willing to take any help he could get.

To his left, Marlene murmured, "They're just outside the minefield. Do they know it's there?"

"I doubt it," Vincent murmured back. "Michael has a taste for the theatric – after all, he gave Cloud, Red XIII, and I a tour of his facilities and an ultimatum about uplifting the world rather than just killing us. I think he has a speech to make."

Sure enough, Michael took a step forward and his voice boomed out at the city, impossibly loud. "People of New Nibelheim!" he said. "I am Michael, First Angel of the Immaculate Swords, your savior!"

"Somebody has a god complex," Marlene snorted. She darted a look at Denzel, who obviously heard it but didn't react to the slight against his former superior.

"Do not be afraid," Michael continued. "It is not my goal to wipe you out. Rather, it is my intent to make you part of something great, a movement to restore balance to the world and uplift humanity to the next stage of its evolution!

"There is no reason for you to resist. Submit to me and you will be given food, shelter, and work with which to make yourselves useful. A chosen number will be uplifted and will join the ranks of the superior beings, the next generation of humanity! I intend to make this world safe again, for everyone – not just the uplifted. All I require is your obedience. Failing that…" He sighed, a sound that didn't seem very sincere. "Failing that, I am afraid I will have to put you down. For your own good."

Marlene stepped forward and yelled, as loud as she could, "Go to hell!"

Her voice, puny next to Michael's, echoed through the silence. The First Angel looked up at her and sighed again. "Well. If this woman speaks for your entire city, then I can't say much for your chances of survival in the new world I intend to create." He shrugged and said, "I'm sorry, I truly am. But the times are changing, and those who cannot keep up will be trampled beneath the feet of those can."

The army of Losts surged forward, past the three Angels in front of them, obviously having received a signal. They stampeded across the desert between them and the city, moving at an alarming speed.

"Hit it," Vincent said to Marlene, who grinned and keyed in the activation sequence on the remote at her belt.

Explosions began to blossom throughout the enemy army, sending bits and pieces of Losts flying everywhere. Dozens of them died within seconds, but as the number of remaining mines dwindled, the explosions came less and less quickly.

"Open fire!" Vincent shouted, and the entire Protectorate army obeyed. They opened up on the enemy, and bullets rained down on the Losts, blowing holes in them and dropping them in droves. Still, Michael had told Vincent that there were twelve hundred of the things, and they had probably grown more since the three of them had been at the Immaculate Swords' base.

The Losts, despite the withering hail of gunfire, were quickly making it to the walls of the city. They felt no fear and if they felt pain they certainly didn't show it. They swarmed over the bodies of their fellows as if they were so much dirt, and the first of them began to claw its way up the sheer wall of the city. The creature sank its talons into the hard concrete as if it were made of paper and climbed almost as quickly as it had been running. Vincent raised an eyebrow and blasted the Lost through the head with a triple round from Cerberus. These Losts had obviously been upgraded by the Immaculate Swords; the numerous ones he'd encountered in the wild or in outbreaks hadn't been this fast, durable, or strong.

The creatures kept coming, and as the Losts began to swarm the bottom of the wall, literally walking over one another to start climbing, the soldiers reacted by tossing live grenades down to the ground. More explosions ripped through the mass of creatures, sending blood and body parts flying everywhere, but Vincent felt a knife twist in his gut when he realized that the grenades weren't having the desired effect.

The Losts were using the bodies of their fallen fellows as shields. One that had made it halfway up the wall was climbing with its feet and right hand, its left hand sunk up to the wrist into the chest of a fallen Lost. It was using the carcass to protect itself from gunfire. The sight was repeated everywhere, the grenades exploding above Losts that were protected by literal walls of meat.

"I'm going!" Denzel shouted over the sounds of gunfire.

"Good luck!" Vincent replied. "Just remember whose side you're on!"

Denzel shot him a dark look, but nodded before he leapt off of the wall and straight down into the teeming mass of Losts. It was impossible to see the wall he projected, but its effects were obvious. As Denzel plummeted towards the earth, all the Losts climbing the wall in front of him were violently dislodged and crushed beneath the invisible plane of force. The Fifth Angel landed and began sweeping the wall's razor edge back and forth through the Losts, culling dozens with each strike. When the creatures finally reacted and started to try to take him down, Denzel switched to a defensive stance, warping the wall into a cylinder around himself and pointing at individual Losts. The cylinder extruded long, sharp spikes that impaled the targets he pointed at.

"He's going to kill all of them by himself if this keeps up!" Marlene shouted, spraying the Losts with fire from the submachine gun she held.

"It won't last!" Vincent said. "Any second now – there!"

Uriel rocketed out of the sky, his razor-sharp, hair-thin extrusions spinning around him like myriad floating wires, just barely visible in the light of the setting sun. He landed and struck out, wrapping the wires around Denzel's protective cylinder and then squeezing. Denzel pointed at Uriel, obviously trying to repeat the impaling trick he'd pulled on the Losts, but Uriel made a slicing motion with his hands. The spike the cylinder extruded shot forward straight into a crisscrossing weave of Uriel's wires and shredded itself with its own momentum.

"He's not going to be able to take Uriel by himself!" Vincent said. "I'm going to help! Keep up the pressure on the Losts!"

"Just worry about staying alive, Vincent!" Marlene returned. "Leave the freaks to me!" She punctuated her statement with another burst from her SMG, blowing a Lost that was tenuously clinging to the wall right off.

Vincent pulled the Peacekeeper off of his back and let Galian's power rise to the surface. He felt his muscles bulge, the blue-grey fur sprout from his skin, and his face elongate into a snout. Inside of two seconds, his transformation was complete, and he hurled himself into the sky, aiming the Peacekeeper at Uriel's head.

Something flashed by him, impossibly fast, and hit him across the face so hard that he was blown off-course and straight into the ground in the middle of the Losts. He got unsteadily to his feet, shaken by the power of the blow even in his shifted form.

He looked around for his adversary and then the fur on the back of his neck prickled as he realized someone was standing right behind him.

Vincent let white-hot energy envelop his right arm and he whirled, slashing horizontally at stomach level in the same motion. The blow was strong enough to crush stone, and coupled with the energy he was pouring into his limb, he should have been able to kill a Behemoth in a single strike.

Gabriel reached up and caught Vincent's attack in one hand, inspecting the extremity with a curious expression. He looked at Vincent with his wide, pale blue eyes, and Vincent felt a chill crawl down his spine.

Then the Second Angel hurled Vincent, a thousand pounds of steely lupine muscle, with that same hand.

Vincent flew straight into New Nibelheim's wall. The impact would have killed any normal human being; Vincent felt pain explode all up and down his back, legs, and head. The concrete had huge cracks in it, as well as a sizable hole where Vincent had hit, and the gunman felt himself shift back into his normal form before he fell limply to the ground in a seething mass of Losts and everything went black.

* * *

"Get up!"

Raphael lay on her back, and Cloud stood over her. He was bathed in sweat and completely parched. He'd been killing her for over an hour now, and the effort was beginning to wear on him. He'd tried everything, since she didn't seem to want to fight back – True Omnislashes, incinerating blasts, nothing worked. She just kept coming back for more, never trying to attack, letting him slash into her and beat her mercilessly.

"I'm comfortable where I am," Raphael said.

Cloud let the First Tsurugi drop to the ground and he collapsed into a sitting position, panting. "It's obvious that nothing I hit you with works. If it has any effect, it's so small I could do it for years before you died. You could have killed me any time, but you haven't. Why?"

Raphael sat up and brushed the dirt off of her jumpsuit before replying, "Because you're precious to me, Cloud."

"You have a weird way of showing it," he said. His anger hadn't abated, but it had chilled to a cool, deadly rage – one that let him think. "Why?"

She shrugged. "So many people lock up all their emotions inside them, trying to hide behind masks of calm and veneers of aloofness. It makes them hard to feel. You, however… after such a long time hiding from the truth, being cold and implacable, you can't do it any longer. Your mind, damaged though it may be, is sharp and beautiful to me. You feel everything on raw nerves, even if you don't show it."

"Why do you care how I feel emotions?" Cloud asked.

"When I made you think that everything you've been through since waking up was all a dream and that you could resume your normal life, your happiness and relief were sweet and pure. Your sadness when you had to give it up, your anger toward me, everything you feel is perfect and uncompromised by the rationalizing and prevaricating that people put themselves through." She crept toward him and reached out one hand to caress his cheek. "That is why I love you."

Cloud snarled and batted her hand away from his face. "Don't bullshit me. Why would you put me through that fantasy and then take away everything that's important to me if you love me?"

"I'm not talking about selfless love," Raphael said. "I want to be you, Cloud Strife. I want to be what you are, and I am jealous of you because I can't be."

"What am I that you would want to be over what you are now?" Cloud asked. "What do I have that you don't?"

"You're a human being," Raphael replied with a wistful expression. "You feel things, emotions, which I can never experience again. You haven't given up your humanity in order to escape it."

Cloud stared at her, feeling curiosity begin to overtake his anger. "Is that what you had to do to be uplifted? I mean…" He didn't want to reveal the secret of _kànderén_ to a member of the Immaculate Swords, so he settled on saying, "I can see that you're not human anymore. You're not afraid of death of any kind. You're at peace with the people you've lost. But what did you do?"

"My name was Anne," Raphael said. "Anne Weì Aì. My mother was from Wutai, and my father had grown up in Midgar. They met twenty-two years after the Fall, in New Gongaga, and I was born a year later." Cloud closed his eyes and concentrated on slowing his breathing while he listened to her. "When I was eleven, raiders killed them both. Orphans don't last long in this world, because nobody wants another mouth to feed. The town council asked for somebody to take me in, but there were no volunteers. There was an orphanage in New Corel, and it was decided that I would go with the next trading caravan up to the city in order to go there."

"Let me guess," Cloud said. "The Immaculate Swords raided the caravan looking for servants."

Raphael nodded. "I was captured and taken up to the North Crater. At first I was just a servant, but as the years passed the Angels noticed I was smarter and more capable than the other captives. When I was nineteen, Uriel approached and asked me if I wanted to become an uplifted." Her eyes never left Cloud's as she continued to speak. "He promised me I would never want anything again, I would no longer feel sorrow or pain, and the wound my parents' death had opened up in me would be closed so well it would be as though it was never there.

"Being uplifted takes everything human out of you and destroys it unless you're very deeply attached to it. I know Selaphiel still misses someone he knew as a human, and Uriel is obviously still an egocentric maniac." She reached out to try to touch his face again and Cloud didn't stop her, seeing no point in the attempt. If she wanted to, she could probably kill him, after all.

"But when I was uplifted, I wanted so badly to feel nothing any longer, to be free of my pain, that when I underwent the transformation it took everything," Raphael said, running her fingers down Cloud's cheek and then tracing the line of his jaw. "When I emerged as an uplifted, an Angel, I was an empty shell, with nothing left but pure, rational calculation." She moved her fingers from his jaw to his lips, seemingly fascinated by the feel of them. "Uriel was right about the effect of being uplifted on me. I no longer missed my parents or felt grief, but the sheer emptiness itself… hurt."

"It's the price you paid for your power," Cloud said. "Do you expect me to feel bad for you?"

Raphael sucked in a quick gasp of air through her teeth. "I love your conviction, Cloud. You're so absolutely sure of yourself. It follows that you would be, after the things you had to overcome just to get your mind in order."

"Whatever. Finish telling your story so we can fight again, or leave, or whatever it is you want to do."

"My abilities began to assert themselves almost immediately after my uplifting," Raphael said. "JENOVA cells are telepathic by nature, but none of us can use that telepathy, even Michael. It takes a mind from a higher state of being, like Sephiroth's was, to be able to harness it. Gabriel might be able to do it, but that's only because he's never said he can't – not that he ever says much anyway.

"At any rate, I discovered that while I wasn't telepathic, I was empathic. I could sense people's emotions and experience them for myself. Feeling other people's emotions filled the void inside me, even if only a little bit, but I discovered something – most people hide from their emotions and make them difficult to pick up on. The people I could read the clearest were the ones who experienced very strong emotions and didn't try to turn away from or regulate them."

"And what about the illusion?" Cloud demanded.

"It's a limited form of telepathy that I discovered how to use in conjunction with my empathic abilities. I can send signals out to people's minds, but not receive them back. I can manipulate what people see, put them in a fantasy world, modulate their dreams…" She motioned at Red XIII with a jerk of her head. "Right now, he thinks he's back in Cosmo Canyon, watching the stars with his grandfather. His mind is different from ours, but I've managed to compensate."

"Why did I snap out of it when he didn't?"

"I made the mistake of including the particular piece of music you recognized when I didn't know its name and didn't realize that Tifa should have known it too. I haven't slipped up in the same way with Red XIII's dream. Obviously the technique gets less effective once somebody knows about it, but I usually only need to use it once."

"All right." Cloud put a hand on each of Raphael's shoulders and pushed her off of him. "Obviously I can't hurt you very effectively for some reason, but you aren't interested in hurting me either. Red XIII and I are already hours late and I'm sure the battle for New Nibelheim is over, one way or another. Why are you still here?"

"I told you," Raphael said. "You're precious to me, Cloud."

"That's really too bad for you, because the feeling isn't mutual. Why did you suddenly decide I was so interesting, anyway?"

"A couple hours after Michael dispatched Selaphiel, he told me that he didn't think Selaphiel would be able to stop the three of you from getting to New Nibelheim. Sure enough, he obviously wasn't able to, because Vincent showed up at New Nibelheim with plenty of time to spare, which we didn't anticipate. We thought that if he had made it, you two couldn't be far behind.

"Of course, we were wrong, but regardless, I was sent to find you and stop you from getting to New Nibelheim by any means necessary. I found the two of you easily enough and put you into your respective fantasy worlds, but when I put you under, you began to radiate such strong emotions – such poignant feelings of happiness and love, deliciously mixed in with doubt and fear – that I couldn't bring myself to kill you. You are the ultimate emotional banquet for me."

She reached up and wrapped her hands around Cloud's wrists. "My empathic abilities function at their highest potential if I can make physical contact with the subject. When I touch you, I can feel beyond just your surface emotions to the ones beneath. I can feel your love for Tifa, along with the constant grief you bear in her absence."

"I came to terms with my grief a while ago," Cloud said.

"But you still feel it. You just don't let it rule you." Raphael tightened her grip on Cloud's wrists, not enough to hurt but enough to be noticeable. "I've been letting you rip me apart and try to kill me because even that's a form of contact, and anger is just another emotion as far as I'm concerned. What you're feeling doesn't matter. Any emotion you experience as deeply as you've felt the happiness, love, anger, everything in the past hours – sharing in it empathically is ecstasy for me."

Cloud's first reaction was to try to make himself not feel anything, to deny her whatever sick thrill she was getting out of this, but then he had to pause and think. If she loved sharing in his emotions so much, how could he use that to his advantage? Obviously, she didn't want to kill him as long as she could feel his emotions. Maybe he could get her to go one step farther.

"Listen," he said. "If you agree to tell me something, and to let Red XIII go, I'll let you stick around and… keep empathizing with me, I guess. How does that sound?"

Raphael cocked her head at him, curious. "Hmm. Well, I suppose I can humor you. By himself, Red XIII isn't that much of a threat, and telling you one thing can't hurt that much."

Cloud didn't choose to question what she might mean by saying she would humor him, but instead proceeded to his question. "Why can't I harm you? Why do none of my attacks work? Are you just amazingly durable?"

"If you thought that was really the case, you wouldn't have asked," Raphael admonished him. "No. You suspect there's some secret to why you can't hurt me, and you'd be right. Since I said I'd tell you…" She let go of his wrists and leaned forward conspiratorially, bringing her mouth next to his ear. "The emotions that people exude are intrinsically tied to their place in the Lifestream, Cloud. Your emotions define your life every bit as much as your soul or your body.

"When you feel emotions, that's a kind of living, a kind of life-force that's unique to humans and is completely lost to us uplifted. My ability lets me feel your emotions, and in doing so I can gain that life-force. As long as you keep feeling things, I keep living, no matter how many times you kill me."

Cloud drew back and stared at her. "You're not serious."

She smiled at him, and though the expression was outwardly friendly, Cloud could detect a core of smug superiority and malice that seemed almost to shine through Raphael's eyes. "I'm very serious, Cloud. This is my true strength, what makes me the Third Angel rather than the Fifth or Sixth." She touched his cheek again, and her hand seemed much colder than it had before. "I call it _vicarius._ "

"So," Cloud said, thoroughly unnerved. "You'll let Red XIII go, right?"

"I said I would. I can only keep him in his dreamworld if I'm within line of sight of him. Once we're gone, he'll wake up. Michael might be a little upset I let him go, but he won't mind once he sees that I've brought you back with me."

Cloud felt the blood freeze in his veins. "What?"

Raphael smirked at him. "Cloud, I never said I'd let you go, and did you really expect me to follow you around like some sad puppy, leeching off of whatever emotions you happened to throw my way? Silly." She lightly flicked the point of his nose, a teasing gesture, and said, "I'm taking you back with me."

"That's going to be problematic." Cloud threw her off of him and picked up the First Tsurugi. "Because I don't think I want to go back with you."

Raphael got to her feet and laughed. "What chance do you think you have, Cloud? You can't kill me, you're exhausted, and if you give me too much trouble I might just kill Red XIII in my irritation. If you want to save your friend, you'll come with me of your own free will."

Cloud looked at Red XIII, then back at Raphael, then at Red XIII again, furiously trying to find a way out of the situation. However, every possibility he considered ended in precisely the same way. Raphael would keep living no matter how much energy he poured into killing her. He would eventually drop out of sheer exhaustion and she would take him back with her anyway, and as she said, she might kill Red XIII out of spite.

This was the only thing he could do right now.

With a grimace, Cloud swung the First Tsurugi into its harness on his back and raised his hands above his head.

"All right, Raphael," he said. "I'll come with you."


	30. Chapter 30

"GET UP!"

Vincent felt someone roughly pull him to his feet. His vision swam for a moment before he was able to focus.

Denzel had rushed over to him and put up a wall around them, keeping the swarm of Losts away. Even as Vincent watched, Uriel leaped into the air and began slashing mercilessly at the wall with his wires. "Denzel," he said, "I – Gabriel –"

"He doesn't let anybody attack his allies," Denzel said. "That's all I know about him. The reason he hasn't tried to keep me from fighting Uriel is because Uriel attacked me first."

Vincent shook off his wooziness and brought Galian's power to the surface, transforming back into the beast. **"In that case,"** he growled, **"switch with me."**

"What?" Denzel asked.

" **Keep Gabriel pinned down. I don't care how you do it. If you have to keep him in your enclosure and concentrate only on that, it's fine. You're the only one who can possibly contain him for any amount of time."** Vincent looked around and saw the Peacekeeper had fallen nearby. He strode over to it and picked it up, feeling the last lingering pains from the impact disappear as his body mended itself.

"You can't take on Uriel alone!"

" **We don't know that, but we do know I'm more powerful than you are. I have a better chance against him than you do. Now go."**

"Vincent –"

" **I told you to do exactly as I said, didn't I?"** Vincent snarled. **"If you really want to earn my trust, do as I say!"**

Denzel's shoulders slumped, but he nodded and was suddenly gone, transforming himself into a shockwave and roaring straight through the Losts surrounding them. He reappeared in front of Gabriel and clapped his hands together before interlacing his fingers.

Gabriel immediately buckled under the pressure of all of Denzel's power crushing against him from all sides. He started lashing out within what little room he still had, but Denzel was – at least for the moment – managing to contain the Second Angel.

Uriel landed easily in front of Vincent and motioned at New Nibelheim. The Losts surrounding them immediately lost interest in the two of them and started swarming the city wall again.

"I see you've gone to great lengths to improve yourself since we last met, Vincent Valentine," Uriel said.

" **You have that right, Uriel,"** Vincent replied. **"I'm giving you one last chance. Go back to the North Crater and take your army with you. Otherwise…"** He drew Cerberus with his left hand, his gauntlet fitting easily in its trigger guard, and held the Peacekeeper one-handed in his right. **"Are we clear?"**

"Of course we are," Uriel said, not looking particularly impressed. "However, if you think you're going to be able to defeat me with those crude instruments, Vincent, you're terribly mistaken. Don't forget what happened in our last encounter. I could have killed you any time I wanted. The only reason you escaped was because I was toying with you and your friends succeeded in a surprise attack. They're not here to save you now. In fact, if all has gone as planned, Raphael is disposing of them as we speak."

Vincent felt his stomach do a triple flip. **"What?"**

"Did I misspeak? The Third Angel was dispatched to clean up any mess that Selaphiel –" Uriel looked contemptuously over his shoulder at Denzel, who was just managing to keep Gabriel contained – "left for us. We underestimated your new ability for rapid travel, else she would have gotten to you as well."

Vincent felt his anger blaze and then simmer down into a slow, deadly burning in his chest. **"You're going to wish she was still here, Uriel. At least then there would be somebody to save you from me. After all, your leader doesn't seem inclined to do anything himself."**

"Does a god concern itself with every insect that rises up in opposition? Of course not. It has lesser beings, servants, to deal with the nuisances that are not even a real threat to its majesty."

" **That's conceited thinking. If Michael could kill all of us and conquer everything without any help, then he should just do it and not waste time fielding an army and letting his underlings die fighting his enemies."**

"Perhaps that makes sense to you, but it is our purpose to fight and die for Michael, Vincent." Uriel pointed a finger at him and his eyes narrowed. "That is another human failing that is burned out of every uplifted: a lack of purpose. We all know our roles, Vincent, and we will fulfill them to the very best of our abilities." He smirked. "If Michael commanded his servants to bridge a chasm, we would be more than willing to die until our bodies filled it up."

" **That's insanity,"** Vincent said. **"It's pitiful."**

"That is singularity of purpose. We know why we are, Vincent. We know the reason for our existence in every atom of our beings! Save your pity; _I'll have none of it!_ "

Uriel threw his hands out in a grand, sweeping gesture and Vincent hurled himself out of the way as dozens of wires slashed through the space where he had been standing. He skidded across the ground, firing both Cerberus and the Peacekeeper. Uriel laughed and twitched his fingers, and Vincent could see the bullets being plucked out of the air and shredded one by one in the space of milliseconds. He rolled to his feet and charged straight at Uriel, projecting a front of destructive power to ward off any blows from the Fourth Angel.

The shield of power worked, annihilating any wires that Uriel tried to slice Vincent with, and in a moment Vincent was pressing the Peacekeeper's barrel up against Uriel's head and pulling the trigger.

The gun clicked, but nothing happened. Vincent stared at it, confused, for a split second before Uriel punched him in the gut and sent him staggering backward. "Looking for this?" Uriel asked, and before Vincent's eyes the rifle's magazine hovered in front of the Fourth Angel and was shredded into a hundred pieces. "I removed it from your gun as you were charging. I told you – you won't be able to defeat me with those crude implements."

Vincent raised Cerberus and realized that the trigger had been ripped out of its housing. The handgun – his constant companion for more than forty years – was now a large, beautifully crafted piece of junk. Vincent felt as though he'd just had one of his limbs torn off. It was like he'd lost a dear friend.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Uriel laughed. "Did I upset you by neutering your little gun, Vincent?"

" **Actually,"** Vincent said, looking the bastard straight in his eyes, **"now you've just given me an excuse."**

"And what excuse would that be?"

Vincent wished he could see the look on Uriel's face, the expression of shock no doubt blossoming on those smug features. However, it was impossible, because in the blink of an eye he had moved right up to Uriel, slashed the man across the chest, and skidded to a halt behind him, claws blazing with white fire. There was a pause and then Uriel's chest erupted into a storm of black mist as he belatedly realized that Vincent had actually struck him.

The Fourth Angel staggered backward and whirled around in the same movement, bringing his wires to bear on the man who had hurt him. Vincent reached up with both his hands and plucked the razor-sharp strands straight out of the air without looking as they closed in on him from either side. He looked over his shoulder, eyes glowing white, and said, **"I didn't want to use the full measure of Galian's power because I would risk damaging Cerberus. The energy of a chaotic demon doesn't mix well with a simple metal gun."**

He yanked hard on the wires and Uriel was pulled forward, caught off-guard by the sudden movement. The Fourth Angel detached the wires from himself and ground to a halt even as he extruded new ones and slashed at Vincent with them, but Vincent was too quick. He accelerated forward at an impossible speed, going even faster than before, and rammed his horns into Uriel's gut. The attack actually picked the man up off of the ground and hurled him into the air, where he spun wildly about.

Vincent didn't waste time on a taunt, but instead poured all of his energy, including Galian's power, into his Fire Materia and hurled a fully-charged incinerating blast at Uriel within half a second. The fireball hit and exploded into a raging inferno that blotted out the stars and turned the battlefield into day for a brief instant.

" **Goodbye, Uriel,"** he said as the light began to fade. **"Maybe if you hadn't been so conceited you would have stood a chance."**

"Who's conceited, Vincent Valentine?"

Vincent spun, hurling a blast of energy as he did so. Uriel, behind him, batted the strike out of the way with a contemptuous wave of his hand and thrust his other hand out, hundreds of pitch-black wires that would skewer Vincent erupting from his palm. He threw up another shield of destructive energy, but these wires were thicker and more resilient than normal, and the shield only managed burn them down to their normal size before they impaled themselves deep in his chest. He slashed at them with his claws, but they danced out of the way, moving with a life of their own.

"You're a pathetic fool, Vincent," Uriel said. Vincent fell to his knees as pain shot through him, a horrible, crawling feeling that ripped through him as Uriel burrowed his wires deeper and deeper into Vincent's body, through flesh and bone. "I snatch bullets out of the air and disable both your firearms with a lateral attack that you can't actually see being performed, and you think I won't be able to dodge a simple fireball? Your full power is formidable, but I'm still your superior."

" **You're wrong,"** Vincent gasped through the pain and the red seeping in at the edges of his vision.

"I could tear you into a hundred pieces right now if I wanted to, Vincent, and you're still not convinced I'm the better man? What will it take? What humiliation do you require, what depths do you need to sink to in order to realize you are inferior scum that cannot hope to share the same world with me and my like?" Uriel twitched his fingers and Vincent knew with terrible certainty that the wires were wrapping around his heart. "Tell me how I need to disgrace you, and I will do it."

" **It has nothing to do with me,"** Vincent said. **"It has everything to do with you."** He looked up at Uriel and bared his fangs in a feral grin. **"The truly superior man doesn't constantly feel a need to prove it to his inferiors."**

And he set his heart on fire.

He felt Galian's white-hot power coursing around and through his heart, incinerating Uriel's grasping coils, and it coursed out from there into his arteries and veins, until every part of him was blazing with unholy fire from within. The holes Uriel's wires had bored into his chest exploded with energy, freeing Vincent from the Fourth Angel's grip. He leaped forward and lanced his claws straight into Uriel's throat.

Black wires shot out from all over Uriel's body and pierced into or slashed at Vincent, but every wound the Fourth Angel inflicted released a massive gout of power that seared him and burned away his cords. Vincent fought through the pain and kept his claws in Uriel's throat, closing his fingers around the man's spinal cord and trying to snap it. Uriel would either have to dissolve entirely into his JENOVA-disease liquid or continue to take massive amounts of damage every time he tried to hurt his opponent.

Instead of doing either of these things, Uriel switched to a new tactic. He snapped his head around, even as Vincent continued to wrench at his spine, and his topknot of brown hair turned the color of midnight and came alive. It lashed out and cut Vincent straight across the eyes, which immediately exploded in twin blasts of energy that had barely been held back before, shredding what was left of Vincent's eyes. He roared and let go of Uriel's throat, reflexively reaching to cover his now-empty sockets, and Uriel leapt back, putting distance between himself and his opponent.

"An interesting strategy," he rasped as his throat closed up and healed. "But it's more destructive to yourself than your opponent, Vincent. Even if you're one with Galian's power, trying to make that literal on a physical level just won't work. Not to mention…" He eyed Vincent, who was covered head to toe in lacerations and stab wounds that wept viscous red blood and hot power in equal measure. "How long can you fight like that, even in this form? In the end, all you are is flesh and blood. You will eventually bleed out and die. You are bound by limits that do not apply to me."

" **They don't apply to you because you couldn't bear to let them,"** Vincent said, hoping to keep Uriel talking. It would take hours for his eyes to regenerate normally, and with power leaking out through his sockets they wouldn't even start. Unless he could somehow track Uriel by scent or hearing in a chaotic battlefield, he was blind in every sense of the word.

"Exceeding one's limits is a natural part of evolution," Uriel countered. "You're doing the same thing, Vincent. You weren't powerful enough before, so you subdued the demon inside you for power. You overcame that particular limit quite efficaciously."

" **But you didn't overcome anything,"** Vincent shot back. **"You didn't try to overcome the limits of your humanity. You just used a cheap trick to get around them, a method that let you get past them without having to try. Now you flaunt your lost humanity as though it's a great boon, blinded to what giving it up has cost you."**

Uriel's expression, though Vincent couldn't see it, was beginning to edge away from a smug smile to an angry frown. "What?"

" **What good is an existence without aspirations?"** Vincent demanded. **"Are you content to sit in Michael's shadow forever? Don't you want to keep bettering yourself? You used to want to improve yourself… Peter Rodolphus."**

Uriel flinched as though he had been stung. "Don't call me by that name," he hissed. "Peter Rodolphus was a weak human being who didn't know what he wanted or why he existed. He wandered the world, collecting knowledge without knowing why. Eventually, he went to the Western Continent, obsessed with learning more about the Losts, and found Project Revelations, his purpose… and his god."

" **Michael."**

"I was born then," Uriel said. "I arose from the ashes of Peter Rodolphus, who uplifted himself without any real knowledge of the process or what it entailed. I freed Michael from his prison in stasis and uplifted him as well, and when he emerged as the First Angel and spoke to me of his vision for a new, better world, I pledged my unswerving loyalty to him for the rest of time."

" **In other words,"** Vincent sneered, **"you ran away."**

"How _dare_ you –"

" **Instead of trying to find your purpose and accept your humanity, you ran away from both. You invented yourself a purpose and threw away your humanity. You couldn't stand the uncertainty and fear."**

"I am not afraid of anything," Uriel said, his expression murderous. " _Anything._ If you think you can get to me this way, Vincent, you're sorely mistaken. Regardless, I think it's about time for you to die."

This was it. Vincent couldn't regenerate his eyes anywhere near quickly enough to see what Uriel was doing, and the sounds of gunfire and the smell of badly cooked flesh were too heavy in the air for him to track the Fourth Angel through his other senses. Unless he thought of something, right now, he was dead.

Then, impossibly, he felt his wounds closing at an amazing rate. His eyes reformed in their sockets, even as the power leaking from within him tried to cook them. Strength rushed back into him, and his vision returned just in time to see Uriel rocketing forward, razor-edged black death flashing all around him.

Vincent didn't waste any time wondering about the apparent miracle. He focused every ounce of Galian's power into a single point in front of him and then unleashed it. A roaring beam of light seared out of thin air and Uriel rushed right into it. He screamed as it burned away his entire front side and hurled him thirty feet backward, skidding across the sand until he ground to a halt, twitching.

The attack had been powerful, but it meant that Vincent couldn't maintain his shifted form. He shrank back down to his normal size, his fur disappeared, and he felt the energy cease to course through his blood. He had literally overloaded himself, and it would take at least a minute for him to be able to call on the demon's power again.

"Nice shot, Vincent," Marlene said.

Vincent climbed shakily to his feet and turned around. Marlene stood there, her submachine gun in one hand and a Restore Materia in the other. A silent wave of relief coursed through Vincent when he saw that she was miraculously unharmed and had managed to avoid being spattered by Lost fluids. "How did you get down here?" he asked, his voice hoarse after speaking through Galian.

"I jumped," Marlene replied. "Pretty sure I fractured something, but I obviously had a Restore Materia on me, so that didn't slow me down for more than two seconds. The Losts didn't even look twice at me when I got to the ground – I was counting on that. We all saw that freaky son of a bitch you've been fighting give them some kind of signal to ignore you and go for the city, and I thought that might extend to ignoring me too."

"You just saved my life," Vincent managed to get out. "Thank you."

"It's not over yet," Marlene said, motioning at Uriel. The Fourth Angel had gotten to his feet, looking worse for the wear but not down yet. "You have any more tricks up your sleeve, Vincent?"

"Maybe," he said. He took her hand in his and gave it a quick squeeze. "If you want to find out, you'd better stand back."

Marlene looked confused until he squeezed her hand, at which point she nodded and began to fall back as Uriel started to advance. "That was unexpected," he called to Vincent. "Of course, you'd be dead by now if not for your little helper."

"Don't even think about it," Vincent said warningly. "If you make even one move against her, I'll kill you before you can so much as blink."

"Oh, please," Uriel laughed. He continued to stalk forward, his wires dancing around him. "What are you going to do, Vincent? Hit me with that incinerating blast you have charged up? Or did you think I wouldn't notice after Barachiel got himself killed in exactly the same way when he fought Cloud?"

"I was actually counting on you noticing it," Vincent said easily. "After all, if you have all your attention on making sure it doesn't hit you, you'll be vulnerable to every other attack thrown at you."

"What do you think you're talking ab-"

Uriel broke off as a massive blast of lightning hit him between the eyes. Marlene, standing twenty feet away, lowered her hand. It was still crackling with the energy she'd released through the Lightning Materia that Vincent had bound to her when he'd squeezed her hand.

Vincent didn't know what kind of sensory perception Uriel possessed, but a lightning bolt to the face should be enough to put anybody off-guard for a crucial second. He sprinted forward, closing the gap between himself and Uriel in a heartbeat, and lanced his gauntlet into the Fourth Angel's chest.

" _Did you forget what happened to that arm last time?_ " Uriel roared, and Vincent bit back a scream as he felt countless wires bore into his arm, shooting straight through his gauntlet as though it wasn't even there. " _Then let me remind you!_ " The wires heaved, and Vincent felt the bone rip itself right out of its socket. Flesh and muscle ripped apart with a wet tearing sound as Uriel pulled Vincent's left arm straight off of his shoulder. Blood gushed everywhere and stained the ground beneath them.

"No," Vincent rasped. "I didn't forget anything… but apparently you did."

Uriel's eyes widened, and Vincent pressed his right hand to the Fourth Angel's face. Flames shot up all along his arm's length, and then Vincent blasted Uriel point-blank with the incinerating power of a star.

* * *

He was still alive.

Vincent, breathing hard, clutching at the stump where his left arm had been, stared at the twitching puddle of JENOVA-disease fluid in front of him. The incineration technique had reduced Uriel to ash – except for this one small piece of him, a pool of darkness so small Vincent could cup it in his hands if he wanted to.

Half-formed features coalesced, as though something trying to resemble Uriel was looking at itself in a black mirror. Eyes appeared, followed by impressions of a nose and mouth, and the face's gaze flicked past Vincent, who stood over it, to something behind him.

Vincent felt the air behind him ripple. He whirled, staggering and almost losing his footing as he did so, and found himself face-to-face with Michael, who gave him a smug smile. "Well. It seems you warrant my personal interest after all. But stand aside for the moment, Vincent Valentine."

There was absolutely no way Vincent could hope to stand up to Michael – especially not in the condition he was after the fight with Uriel – and both of them knew it. Vincent stepped out of the way, and Michael moved to stand directly over the tiny, dying face in the sand which had been his closest lieutenant and possibly his only friend. Marlene moved to Vincent's side, grabbed his arm from the ground, put it against the bleeding wound, and started casting curative magic as many times as she could.

"Michael," Uriel whispered. He didn't so much say it, considering he no longer had vocal cords, as he resonated it. "I fought for you. I gave it my all and I was defeated in your service. I was not… superior enough." His half-features contorted into a smile. "Are you pleased?"

Michael nodded. "I am pleased, Uriel. I saw your fight. It was not your fault that you were placed against somebody who was more powerful than you. You gave it your all, regardless. Rest now." He knelt and placed the index finger of his right hand in the liquid, between Uriel's nose and mouth. "Rest, my good and faithful servant."

Uriel's eyes closed, and with one last, blissful smile he dissolved into black mist that was borne away on the wind.

"Uriel told you about knowing one's place and one's purpose, I assume," Michael said after a moment.

"He did," Vincent said. He was even paler than normal from massive blood loss, but Marlene had managed to reattach his arm most of the way. The flesh was still red and new, but it would serve well enough. "He said that he knew his purpose in life and he pitied me for not knowing mine."

Michael got to his feet and brushed himself off, not looking at Vincent. "I dislike wasting subordinates, Vincent. But Uriel… he would not have let me fight you. I was his god. If I fought you, he would see it as unforgivable a thing as requiring a king to move through shit on all fours." He turned and looked at Marlene, who defiantly stared back at him. "And, to a certain extent, he was right. I raised this army of Losts to deal with the common people who stand in my way. If I crushed them myself, it would be denigrating. Does the seasoned veteran spar with a newborn baby?"

He turned his piercing gaze on Vincent at last. "But you are not a child, Vincent. You are powerful and dangerous, and I think you might eventually – with time – even pose a threat. So I will kill you now, before that can happen."

"Marlene," Vincent said. "Get back to the city. Rally the troops and kill as many of the Losts as you can."

"But –" she started to protest.

"But nothing!" Vincent snarled at her, eyes flashing. "You heard Michael. The whole reason for the army is because he doesn't want to be reduced to dealing with commoners. If we destroy his army, either he falls back and has to take time to build a new one, or at the very least he gets his hands dirty while he's killing us." He gestured at her to leave. "Now go!"

Marlene looked like she wanted to argue the point, but instead she nodded and sprinted back to New Nibelheim, where the army of Losts was still climbing up the walls of the city and beginning to flood the inside. The defenses just hadn't been quite strong enough – not without Cloud and Red XIII to support them and Denzel tied up with Gabriel.

Then Vincent remembered something Denzel had said about Gabriel and his interference. _"The reason he hasn't tried to keep me from fighting Uriel is because Uriel attacked me first."_

"DENZEL!" he shouted.

Denzel, who was still keeping a no-longer-resisting Gabriel within his wall of force, looked at Vincent, who was some two hundred feet away. "What?" he called back.

"Stop restraining Gabriel and get back to the city! Kill all the Losts you can!" Vincent said. "I'll keep him busy as long as I can!"

Denzel, unlike Marlene, obeyed instantly, remembering the harsh rebuke Vincent had given him the last time he'd faltered in carrying out an order. He immediately released Gabriel and took off in the direction of New Nibelheim, morphing into a shockwave and crossing the distance in seconds. For his part, Gabriel stayed exactly where he had been imprisoned only moments before and looked quizzically at Vincent. It was just as though he'd never attacked the gunman and hurled him into a wall hard enough to knock him unconscious.

"A good plan," Michael said to Vincent. "To the very last, you spite me. You hope to deny me my victory by any means necessary, even in the face of the inevitable. I am impressed by your tenacity, and I acknowledge that from the very bottom of my heart."

"Drop the benevolent act," Vincent snapped. "You have the worst god complex I've seen since I killed Hojo, and he was planning to take over the Lifestream. What does that tell you about yourself?"

"Small words," Michael countered. "From a very small human being. Well – not precisely a human, but close enough. You are more durable than a human; you are more powerful than a human; but…"

His blue eyes flashed, and the vertical slits of his pupils opened so wide that they became round. Vincent felt something like a static tingle cover every inch of his body. His hair stood on end and his gauntlet began to spark. Only when he looked into Michael's glowing eyes did he realize he was looking into a void – an endless black nothingness so vast and so far beyond his comprehension he could only stare in shock.

" _You are still an insect,"_ Michael hissed at him, and Vincent fell, spiraling down into the void behind the First Angel's eyes.


	31. Chapter 31

Hand in hand, Cloud and Raphael walked through the ruins of New Nibelheim.

The city had been reduced to a smoking crater littered with rubble and bodies. Cloud tried to control his emotions, knowing that Raphael was enjoying what the sight of the city was making him feel, but it was impossible. Her hand was closed around his, and though it felt soft, from past experience he knew she could tighten it into an unbearable iron grip if he showed any intentions of trying to break away from her.

"So it's over," Cloud finally said miserably. "New Nibelheim fell."

"We can only assume," Raphael said jovially. She might be experiencing the same despair and anger Cloud was, but the act of feeling it was, as she had said, ecstasy for her, and she could easily pass herself off as happy because of it. "I don't know. Even if it didn't exactly fall per se and we somehow lost, I don't think this is a place where people can live any longer."

"It was touch-and-go for a while," someone said. Cloud looked over his shoulder to see Jegudiel leaning against one of the few intact walls left in the city. "But in the end, we managed to pull through, or so I was informed."

"Jegudiel!" Raphael exclaimed. "Where have you been?"

"I had an assignment different from the battle," Jegudiel replied. "Suffice it to say I fulfilled my objective… which is more than you can claim, Raphael."

The Third Angel clucked at the Sixth. "Jegudiel, don't go lecturing me about mission objectives. This is so much better than eliminating him! I'll take my time and have my fun with him and his emotions, and once I'm finished draining him dry we can uplift him and make him a replacement Angel… or just turn him into a Lost. I'd be fine with that too."

Cloud ignored Raphael and asked Jegudiel, "What happened here exactly? Tell me!"

"I don't think you're in a position to be asking – or demanding – anything," Jegudiel said with a significant look at the hand Raphael had around Cloud's.

"Tell me anyway," Cloud said.

"I almost don't want you to," Raphael laughed at Jegudiel. "His anticipation and anxiousness are just delicious… but I guess more crushing despair is good, too. Tell him how we won, Jegudiel, and how all his friends died meaningless deaths."

The large, dark-skinned man made an angry noise in his throat, and Cloud got the feeling Jegudiel did not at all care for his superior. However, he looked at Cloud and said, "In that case… Raphael is not entirely correct. We managed to take the city, but at great cost. We had to have all the surviving Losts revert to Seeders, which will slow us down quite a bit."

Cloud stared at him. "Seeders?"

His question was answered as an enormous, bloated Lost with massive spikes for arms and legs moved silently past them down a street, obviously on some kind of patrol. Multiple heads protruded from its twisted and disgusting torso, and they stared at Cloud with their huge, soulless eyes.

"The breeding form of the Losts," Jegudiel said. "This is a state Losts only reach when they cannibalize many of their own kind. It has to do with the mutagenic properties of the disease, but to make a long and complicated story understandable, once they have consumed enough other Losts, they become Seeders and reproduce asexually… almost."

Cloud felt his stomach doing somersaults. "Almost?"

"They have dozens of fetuses develop within themselves, and when it is time for the Seeders to give birth, the fully-grown fetuses chew their way out. It is unpleasant to watch." Jegudiel seemed to have a talent for understatement. "At any rate, the gestation period is six weeks, so we have that long before we get our reinforcements. Your friends managed, at the very least, to delay us.

"In addition, the Protectorate forces managed to evacuate a large portion of the town's population, as well as getting away themselves. We estimate that they suffered perhaps a hundred to two hundred casualties as opposed to our nine hundred and thirty-seven. To add insult to injury, Selaphiel defected and is assisting the Protectorate cause. Where he is now, we cannot say."

"You know what the best thing about a buoying sense of hope is?" Raphael asked, seemingly at random.

"We also lost Uriel," Jegudiel continued. "We can claim only two real victories from this battle. First, we reduced New Nibelheim to rubble, thus proving we are serious about our cause. The blow to enemy morale was no doubt considerable.

"Second, Michael took it upon himself to avenge Uriel. He personally went forth and, in single combat, killed Vincent Valentine."

Cloud felt like he'd been stabbed. He barely even heard Raphael say, "When it comes crashing down – just like that!"

"You're serious?" Cloud finally managed to get out. "Vincent… dead?"

Jegudiel shrugged. "There was no trace of him left. The two other people Michael took it upon himself to fight personally shared a similar fate. All the First Angel had to do was look at him, and he ceased to exist. If he is not dead, he is so far behind anybody's reach that there is no chance of him ever returning."

Cloud felt numb. He also felt like he wanted to throw up. It was impossible. He just couldn't process the idea of Vincent being dead. It was like trying to swallow an apple whole – simply too much to handle.

Raphael snuggled herself up against his arm and said, "Hurts, doesn't it? You're all alone in the world now, Cloud. Red XIII's stranded in the desert without food or water, Vincent's dead, and your Protectorate has been so thoroughly smashed it'll never recover."

"You," Cloud snarled. "You… _bitch._ " He tore his arm away from her so suddenly and violently she had no time to react, and it was as though he had dealt her a physical blow. She winced and even looked green for a moment before she recovered and shook her head condescendingly at him.

"You know what happens when you try to get away from me, Cloud," she said in a reproving tone. A moment later he was crumpling to the ground, clutching at his gut where she had punched him hard enough to shatter a normal man's bones. "I have to punish you. And you know that I don't like to punish you."

She felt a fleeting glimmer of triumph that she didn't understand, but she dismissed it and concentrated on Cloud's despair and grief as she knelt next to him and touched his face where it lay pressed against the dusty ground.

Cloud, for his part, let her feel those things. He hid his triumph as best he could, buried it deep down inside until he could barely even recognize that it was there. It was such a small thing to begin with, but he was resolved.

Vincent was dead. The city he was supposed to have been protecting had been sacked. The Immaculate Swords were now essentially unopposed and they intended to destroy the human race. As if all of that were not enough, chances were very high that Cloud was going to spend the rest of his life as Raphael's toy until she got bored with him and discarded him.

But he clung to that small bit of triumph even as he made himself not feel it or acknowledge it. When he had ripped his arm away from her, he had seen her weakness. He had seen how he was going to beat her.

And before he died, Cloud swore, he was going to kill her for what she had done to him.

* * *

Vincent woke in darkness.

It wasn't the kind of darkness that signified the mere absence of light. It was more than that, deeper, truer, real instead of shadow. It was the kind of darkness one only experienced when one no longer had any eyes.

"Well, now you've gone and done it, haven't you, Vincent?"

The voice was familiar, but not in a good way. It was a voice Vincent had run from, a voice he had tried very hard to forget his entire life.

He turned around, though he more imagined the action than performed it, as he didn't have a body to actually turn. Standing, floating, no – _existing_ there was Grimoire Valentine. His father.

The man he'd hated more than anyone else in the world.

"It's been a very long time," Grimoire said. "Almost a century, as a matter of fact. You went off to join the Turks, and shortly after that I fell victim to an accident in Dr. Crescent's lab. Tell me, Vincent. Are you happy with how things turned out?"

"What's going on?" Vincent demanded. "Where are we?"

"Nowhere," Grimoire replied, "and everywhere. Do you have any idea what Michael did to you, Vincent?"

"His eyes… it felt like I was falling into them."

"That was the only way your mind could process what was happening. In reality, he discorporated you. He ripped you apart at the atomic level and scattered you across hundreds of miles of desert. Everything physical that was Vincent Valentine is gone. All that remains is your consciousness, soul, whatever you want to call it. I'm not here to discuss metaphysics. Suffice it to say, you should be in the Lifestream now."

Vincent narrowed his eyes at his father, or at least did in his mind. He couldn't see himself, couldn't see anything except Grimoire. "Then why am I here?"

"It's curious what bonding with the spirit of a demon will do for your life expectancy, Vincent," Grimoire said, and the darkness behind him seemed to ripple.

Galian appeared, his face still a bleeding mess where Vincent had pierced it through with his gauntlet. He looked up at Vincent with eyes that were no longer there since Vincent had slashed them out. **"Didn't expect to see me again, did you, Vincent?"**

"Not outside of a mirror, no," Vincent said. "Then again, I didn't expect to ever see my father again, either."

"I studied the Lifestream extensively during my life, and I knew you well – even if our relationship was not good – so I was chosen to explain to you what will happen now," Grimoire said to Vincent. "Listen closely, because I'll only say it once."

"So we're in the Lifestream?"

"We're in the place before the Lifestream, the fine line between life and death," Grimoire said. "Vincent, when you conquered Galian and fused with him, you took the entirety of his existence into your own. You made him a part of you, like a fifth limb.

"When Michael killed you, you came here as a single being, and the Lifestream is ready to take a single being. However, if you choose to send Galian ahead of you – to rip the extra limb from your body and cast it into the mouth about to swallow you, as it were… To take the metaphor to its logical conclusion, there is a chance that you will be spat back up."

Vincent looked at Grimoire incredulously, or at least gave the impression that he was incredulous. "You're not serious."

"You're unlike any being the Lifestream has ever encountered before, Vincent. Two souls in one – Galian is technically a soul, yes, even if he is a demon. If the two souls split apart, that might give you a chance to rally and claw your way back to life."

"In what body, though?" Vincent demanded. "You said that Michael had scattered my atoms across hundreds of miles of desert!"

"Did that stop Sephiroth from dragging himself out of the Lifestream by brute force of will and reforming in three bodies?" Grimoire countered.

"That was different, and how do you know about that?"

"Everyone felt it, Vincent. The first time a being died and ever escaped the Lifestream… It was amazing and horrifying. I think you can be the second."

"But why?" Vincent asked.

"Didn't I explain it well enough?" Grimoire snapped.

"You explained it perfectly well. What I want to know is why you're telling me this. I thought you hated me – I _wanted_ you to hate me. Is this something you have to do, or are you here because you want to be?"

Grimoire sighed. "Vincent, I never hated you. I hated what you were becoming – a Shin-Ra dog, ready to kill anyone they wanted on command. More than that, I hated myself for having been unable to prevent you from going down that road. I saw all the signs from an early age, but I chose to ignore them."

"Signs? What signs? I became a Turk because I knew it would make you angry."

"You were right about that. It did make me angry, angrier than I'd ever been in my life. But deep down, after you left, I knew that even if I had been a better parent I probably still couldn't have prevented you from becoming a Turk. You've always been very good at hurting people, Vincent. You were born to it, like a guard hound is born to be a predator. It was foolish of me to hope that you would shy away from what came naturally to you."

Vincent glared at his father but said nothing. Galian had alleged much the same when he had been torturing Vincent. By most accounts, he had to admit, Vincent was a walking human disaster. Everyone who got in his sights died, and more often than not he felt no remorse about it.

"Is there any guarantee that I'll come back?" Vincent finally asked.

"You have to want to," Grimoire said. "You have to want, desperately, to live. Even the slightest amount of hesitation will drag you back down and you will have wasted your attempt. Sending Galian ahead of you is only good for a single time; if you fail and slip back down, you will cease to exist forever."

"Fine. Just one last question," Vincent said. "You said that you'd been chosen to explain this to me. Who chose you?"

"The Goddess of the Planet," Grimoire replied. "Minerva."

"Goddess…" Vincent's mind flashed back to Genesis, talking about his role of protector and the Gift of the Goddess he had received. "I see."

" **Well, what are you waiting for, then?"** Galian snarled at Vincent. **"Do it! Cut me away from you and let me return to the Lifestream. It's a damn sight better than being your slave for the rest of eternity."**

Vincent nodded. He looked at Grimoire and said, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but… Well. Thank you, Dad."

Grimoire shrugged. "It's the least I could do for you, son, especially considering how I failed as a father. Take care of yourself out there."

"I will." Vincent moved up to Galian, whose slashed-out eye sockets were somehow fixed on Vincent's intangible form. "So, Galian, how is this going to work?"

" **Simple,"** Galian said. **"Use your control over me to give me one last order. Tell me to rip myself away from you and go straight to the Lifestream in your place. I won't have any choice but to obey, and after that, it'll be up to you."**

"I see." Vincent moved past Galian and said, "All right, then. Get out of here. If I ever see you again, it'll undoubtedly be too soon."

" **My pleasure."** There was another ripple in the darkness Vincent felt more than he saw, and Galian was gone – this time, he imagined, for good.

"Goodbye, son," Grimoire said, and the darkness turned into pure, shining white light. It bathed Vincent in its rays, and it was like he was on fire.

He screamed and clawed at himself, trying to bat out the feeling of the flames but not doing anything useful. He definitely had a physical form now, and he could feel his gauntlet on his left arm, its talons digging into his skin where he was incautiously beating at himself. He'd never known where it had come from, and he didn't want to think too much about it. He remembered as though it was yesterday the time when he'd told Yuffie he would wear it until he no longer had the will to live. Its presence now seemed to confirm, even support, what he was trying to do.

The light beat mercilessly down on him, and Vincent swore he could feel his skin blackening and turning to char. It felt as though the entire universe was ripping and slashing at him with claws of flame, and then the idea came into his mind that if he just stopped struggling, it would all be made right and he would be able to rest.

It was so tempting, so very tempting, to stop trying to bear the horrible pain of the light and give up. He had tried. He had tried his best, and it had been a good fight. Nobody who was watching him would be able to say he hadn't given it his all. He began to close his eyes and let the light consume him, and the pain immediately subsided into a healing, tranquil bliss that felt more wonderful than anything in the world by comparison.

Vincent let the darkness begin to close in around his mind. He relaxed his body; his gauntleted hand slipped away from where he had been clawing at himself.

His gauntlet.

_I don't know where the gauntlet came from, but as long as I have the will to live I'll keep wearing it._

_will to live_

_live_

_**live**_

_**LIVE**_

Vincent's eyes, such as they were, snapped open. No longer afraid of the light, he stared straight into it, accepting it. The horrible, burning pain was gone, replaced with a sense of cleansing, of healing. Something, some higher instinct, told him the light was his fear of life – a strange idea to consider at first, but as he turned it over in his mind it made perfect sense.

He remembered when he learned _kànderén_. It had not been Grimoire who had visited him, but rather Lucrecia. _You try to do everything yourself,_ she'd said. _You never want anyone else to help, for fear they'll get caught up in your wake like so many others have. You have to learn to accept other people into your life, Vincent, and not be so worried. They can take care of themselves – they've been doing it for a very long time now._

He had not taken that lesson very well at all. He'd accepted it, learned to harness Yuffie's technique, but he had still pushed away everyone in his life, making easy excuses about how he preferred to work alone and how he wanted them to have good lives of their own.

He had been such a fool.

Memories of his fight with Yuffie floated to the surface of his thoughts, followed by intense regret. The last thing he might ever have said to her was that he would see her in hell. Now, Cloud screaming about how his last conversation with Tifa had been about coffee made sense. Vincent had never parted with any of his close friends on bad or even insensitive terms.

Instinctively, he knew he had to make this right.

* * *

In the bowels of what had once been a mako reactor, something heaved itself out of the Lifestream.

Vincent gasped and air filled his lungs. Almost blind, mako stinging his eyes, he clawed his way onto a low platform situated just a few feet above the rushing energy of the Planet. He wiped furiously at his eyes, feeling something wrong but unable to pinpoint exactly what it was.

It was no good. The liquid mako had gotten under his eyelids and into his sockets before he'd been able to haul himself out of the Lifestream. There was a steady, terrible burn, and he knew he had to rinse his eyes out or he might well go permanently blind – mako blinding was rare, but utterly untreatable, and he was unsure if even his regeneration could reverse its effects.

The dilemma, of course, was where he might get water with which to do the rinsing.

He could tell only two things for sure. He was still wearing his cloak, and the gauntlet was still on his left arm. Motivated by the prospect of being blind and lost forever, he flailed around until he found the ladder leading up to the main chamber of the reactor.

Five minutes later, negotiating by touch and whatever blurred shapes he could discern through the haze of pain, Vincent stumbled out of the shredded heap of the reactor in which he had resurfaced. A survey of his surroundings, even half-blind, told him he was in the ancient ruined reactor north of Old Gongaga. He had been here many times; in the past it had been used as a makeshift shelter by various groups of raiders and other scum he'd had to extirpate. It was the dead of night, his surroundings lit by a full moon.

A moment passed. He became aware that he was not alone.

Someone was staring at him, rigid, obviously paralyzed with fear. He couldn't make out features, but he could make out the shape of the stranger – large, probably male, dressed in a thick cloak to protect him from the elements.

Vincent lurched forward and tried to ask for water. His voice was raspy and dry, his throat burning from the mako he had swallowed, so he only managed a low moan.

The stranger screamed, definitively identifying himself as a man from the sound of his voice, and began to run. Somewhere in the blur of motion, Vincent saw the outline of a canteen, and his keen ears picked up the sloshing sound of water.

He lunged forward, moving faster than he thought possible. With a ripping sound, he tore the canteen right off of the man's belt. The stranger kept running, not even noticing the loss of his water. As Vincent recalled, there was a settlement within ten miles of the reactor; the man would be fine if he knew anything about the desert. Besides, necessity dictated his actions.

Moving quickly, Vincent clumsily unscrewed the cap from the canteen. His fingers felt large and unwieldy, something he attributed to having just come back to life in a river of mako – his nervous system was undoubtedly shot. As soon as he managed to open the canteen, he tilted his head to the side before pouring the water down into his eyes.

Almost immediately, he felt the mako washing out. He allowed himself a sigh of relief and let the flow of water continue for another second before stopping and pouring the rest down his throat. No longer under assault from the mako, his eyes immediately began to heal, and his vision returned to normal inside of a minute.

The first thing he looked at was himself. He saw the gauntlet on his left arm, and his cloak wrapped around his body, but something was wrong. His cloak was stretched tightly over his form, as though it had shrunk. He looked at his gauntleted hand, which seemed normal until he flexed it. It was also a much tighter fit than he was accustomed to. A mounting sense of unease rising in his gut, he looked at his other hand.

It was covered in bluish-grey fur.

More than that, it had long, wicked-looking talons and was much larger than it should be. He reached up to his face. Instead of his own, familiar features, he felt a furred snout and horns. His hair was no longer silky and black; it had become rough and white, more like a mane than proper hair.

" **Why?"** Vincent asked. His own voice was gone; Galian's was in its place. **"I sent Galian to the Lifestream."** Slowly, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on him, he fell to his knees. **"Why?"**

A breeze picked up. The sound of it scraping against the sand formed a whisper, barely above the level of hearing. _"I said everything physical that was Vincent Valentine is gone, didn't I? The only thing left was Galian… and now that he is gone, there is only his power. His power, and you, who made it a part of your soul."_

Vincent closed his eyes as despair swallowed him whole.


	32. Chapter 32

Inside a dark room, Cloud lay curled up in a corner.

Raphael had told him she would be back within a day, and instructed him to stay here in the ruins of New Nibelheim. Jegudiel had also taken his leave. Now Cloud was alone in the city, with only the silent Seeders to keep him company.

He'd found a relatively intact building and decided to make it his home for the time being. There was a little food left in the pantry – some bread, a little salted pork, enough to keep him going for days if he rationed it out carefully. The city still had water, despite the widespread destruction, so that wasn't much of a concern for him.

Right now, the thing that concerned him the most was how helpless he was.

It had only occurred to him after Raphael left – this was the first time he had ever been truly alone in this new, terrible Gaea. He'd wondered why she would trust him to simply stay here, and then it had become obvious. He knew nothing about desert travel, where the cities were, how to survive out in the open wastes – absolutely nothing. In some ways, he was as helpless as a child in this new world.

What was even more galling was that Raphael knew it, too, and she knew he would know it soon. That was why she had smirked with utter confidence when she'd left, secure in knowing that Cloud had nowhere to go and no way of getting there even if he did.

It was the dead of night, about twelve hours after Raphael had left, and Cloud was unable to sleep. Despite his helplessness, a large part of him continued to stridently demand he get up and leave immediately, striking out due south in the hopes he might get to Old Nibelheim and not die of thirst in the middle of the desert. He tried to rationalize that he could do the Immaculate Swords more damage by staying exactly where he was, but his instincts were still screaming for him to flee as fast as he could.

"We can talk now."

Cloud sat straight up, his skin crawling. "Who's there?"

"It's me," his mystery visitor said, sounding slightly offended. "Well. I suppose you wouldn't recognize my voice."

There was the sound of a boot scraping against the ground. Cloud whirled toward the building's entrance; someone stood in the doorway, faintly silhouetted by the moonlight outside. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"It's me." The figure stepped forward and extended a hand. In its palm, a faint light began to glow, a mote of energy created to illuminate the interior of the building. The faint blue luminescence revealed Gabriel standing there, still hunched over as usual but with a gleam of intelligence in his normally blank eyes.

Cloud stared at the Second Angel. "You… talk?"

"Of course I talk," Gabriel said. "You've just never heard me do it before." He strode over to Cloud's side. He crouched down into a squat and rocked back and forth, his arms around his knees. "Now that Jegudiel and that whore are gone, we can have a conversation."

Cloud blinked. "'That whore?' You mean Raphael?"

"Who else would I be talking about?"

"Nobody, I guess. But… why would you call her that? She's your ally."

"That doesn't change the fact she's a whore," Gabriel stated flatly. "That terrible sickly-sweet façade she affects in public makes me sick. Everyone knows what she really is, and there's no sense in trying to hide it."

"She just seems like a damaged girl to me."

"Oh, she's very damaged, and at the very least she used to be a girl. But don't let her immature little act fool you. She has a fiendish intellect and the disposition of a viper. Between that and her _vicarius,_ she more than qualifies for the position of Third Angel."

"Why are you telling me these things? Aren't you working against the Immaculate Swords by doing this?"

Gabriel shrugged. "I have my own reasons. Would you rather I not?"

"I just… I don't understand it. All of the Immaculate Swords Vincent –" he felt a lump begin to form in his throat when he mentioned Vincent, but he forced it down and kept going – "and I fought were completely devoted to the cause. You're the Second Angel, you're supposed to be the first of a new generation of superior beings."

That made the young man bark a harsh, angry laugh. "Oh, yes, very good. When we've finished our cleansing and uplifting of the world, that will most certainly stand me in good stead. The first of a new generation of superior beings? When all the other 'superior' beings are born, they'll forget that I was first. They'll all think of themselves as the superior ones, and then they'll start trying to uplift themselves by wiping out everybody they consider 'inferior.'" He turned to look Cloud dead in the face, never blinking. "Michael's grand vision is fatally flawed. He can't see that while he may have transcended physical limitations and given all of us a purpose in life – or so he says, at least – he still hasn't removed from us that basest and most human of all qualities."

Cloud returned the Second Angel's gaze. "What's that?"

Gabriel grinned. "Ambition."

"…I see your point."

"Of course you do. When he was fighting Vincent Valentine, Uriel talked a great deal about having overcome human frailties and weaknesses, and Vincent said that Uriel had merely devised a cheap trick, a quick and easy way to get around those weaknesses without actually confronting them. He was right, of course. There still resides in all of us the ambition and lust for power that is the defining characteristic of our species, of _Homo sapiens._ "

"Makes sense. After all, if Michael and Uriel had really gone past being human, I guess they wouldn't have done all of this, would they?"

Gabriel nodded eagerly, rocking back and forth faster. "You understand, I knew you would! At its core, Michael's grand vision and his plan to uplift the world is nothing more than speciesism. It is the backwards logic of the bigger boy on the playground thinking he should show the smaller ones how to be tough by beating them mercilessly. It is Shin-Ra trying to bring 'civilization' and 'culture' to the 'barbarism' of Wutai – yes, I know the histories," he said when he saw Cloud's evident shock at his knowledge. "Uriel taught me much, both through flash-learning and personal instruction. And yet, as he taught me all these things, it became painfully apparent to me that he was blind to the gross contradictions of much of what he said. The foundation of my entire world – Uriel the wise, Uriel the all-knowing – was suddenly gone, replaced with Uriel the backwards, Uriel the frothing zealot. All he cared about was Michael's grand vision."

"If you really want to stop the Immaculate Swords, then why aren't you doing anything?" Cloud demanded. "If your rank is accurate at all, you should be able to squash Jegudiel like a bug and defeat Raphael without too much trouble. We could fight Michael together. Come on, what do you say?"

Gabriel sighed, his rocking motions slowing. "They programmed me too well, Cloud Strife. When Vincent Valentine attacked Uriel, I automatically protected him. There was nothing I could do to stop myself. The only way to prevent my reflexes from activating is for my allies to attack you first, and if you do not manage to surprise them I can see no way for you to defeat them."

"Hey, I beat Barachiel!"

"And I am sure you could beat Jegudiel as well, but the gap between him and Raphael is like the gap between the land and the sky."

"A long time ago, a couple of my friends and I breached that gap," Cloud said. "We traveled up beyond the sky into space. As far as I'm concerned, anything's possible."

"The historic launch of the Shin-Ra Rocket. Yes, I remember Uriel telling me about that." Gabriel shook his head. "Even if you could breach the sky, Cloud Strife, the distance from Raphael to me is like the sky and the moon, and from me to Michael is the moon and the sun."

"Then we'll still find a way," Cloud insisted. "Is there any way I can help you with this reflex of yours? How did they program it into you?"

"More flash-learning. It's like an itch so powerful you can't possibly help but scratch it. If I know an ally is being attacked without knowingly engaging in battle first, the need to protect them overwhelms me. They have me so thoroughly conditioned I go berserk at the slightest provocation. Even when I know they want to fight, it still worries at me, drives me insane little by little. When Vincent Valentine was fighting Uriel, Selaphiel was just managing to hold me in place with his powers, and my confinement…" Gabriel shuddered. "It was like being back in the womb."

Cloud's eyes widened. "You… remember what it was like in the womb?"

"I was fertilized and gestated within an artificial womb," Gabriel said. "A cold glass apparatus filled with tubes and dials and needles. When I was injected with JENOVA cells and then the disease, I developed consciousness and became self-aware on the spot." He stared off into space, mindlessly chewing on his lower lip as he spoke. "I remember when I had no fingers, Cloud Strife. I remember when I had no eyelids. I never learned to blink. I never learned to defecate, or breathe, or do any of the things humans ordinarily have to do, because it was never necessary for me." He drew his arms tighter around his knees. "I just remember the endless cold, the bright lights, the needles injecting me constantly with nutrients, chemicals, cocktails of experimental drugs to increase my intelligence…" His gaze began to dart rapidly around the room. "And always there were the figures outside the womb, blurry and unclear but there nonetheless. I wanted to shout at them to let me out, to free me from my glass cage and stop stabbing me with sharp metal, but I had no language and there was no way they could hear me even if I did."

Something deep within Cloud's mind stirred. He saw the gleam of the lights above the operating table, glinting off of the metal of the scalpel held poised above his insensate form. His own organs, laid open before him without anesthetic; large needles full of mako, shoved into every conceivable part of his body to study the effects; floating helplessly in a tank, always feeling like he was drowning.

"I know how you feel," he murmured.

Gabriel stood up, returning to his normal hunched posture. He brushed himself off, though he hadn't actually sat down and there was no dust on his jumpsuit. "From the very beginning, I knew you did. I felt that Vincent did as well, but you are more approachable, more liable to admit it; you let others into your life where he did not, and you let yourself feel their loss where he shut it away inside and pretended it never happened." His head swung around to fix Cloud with his stare again. "I don't know how you might do it, because I spoke truthfully when I said the gap between Jegudiel and Raphael is like the gap between the land and the sky. However…" His gaze slid over to the building's entrance. As he began to leave, he continued, "If you can kill Jegudiel and Raphael, I will stand with you against Michael. Until then, I will carry on as I always have – I will watch my only family annihilate your entire species, and I will be unable to do anything about it."

Without another word, he was gone. Cloud was left to ponder the Second Angel's words and wonder if he ever would be able to kill his tormentors.

* * *

Once he'd gotten his bearings, it had been a relatively simple matter for Vincent to figure out which way he needed to go to get to Old Nibelheim. His body, now that of an alien beast from places beyond human knowledge, served him as admirably as it had on his trek to New Nibelheim – he covered enormous amounts of ground in almost no time at all.

He would know what to do once he got to Old Nibelheim. The Protectorate had to be told that Cloud and Red XIII had never made it to New Nibelheim, and as far as he knew the battle was lost and everyone should be evacuated. Where to, he wasn't precisely sure, but Vincent had dealt with similar crises in the past, even if they had been on much smaller scales.

And, of course, he had to apologize to Yuffie. The need to clear the air between them, to make things right, was overwhelming. Right now they needed to stand together, not be divided by years' worth of built-up resentment and misunderstood feelings. When the human race wasn't about to be exterminated, they could go see a relationship counselor.

Vincent felt his lips curl around his snout into a gross approximation of a smile. At least he still had a little bit of sardonic humor left in him. How did that saying go? Life was something far too horrible to ever take seriously… That wasn't the exact quote, but he felt it captured the spirit properly.

Then his keen eyesight saw, drifting above the horizon, a lazily curling wisp of smoke.

At this distance, that was what it looked like, but he was sure that when he got closer it would resolve itself into a massive plume of black smoke and ash – the size produced by an entire town burning to the ground, for instance. He felt his stomach begin to do somersaults, and it had nothing to do with the way he was streaking across the desert on all fours.

Something clicked inside his head. There'd been something wrong at New Nibelheim, but he'd been so pressured and harried from all sides that it had never occurred to him. Only now, confronted with the possibility that Old Nibelheim might have been struck, did it hit him with full force. Reeve had very clearly said he was mustering all of his Combat Cait Siths at New Nibelheim for the battle, but Vincent had seen none of them.

That meant one of two things – either the robots had been ambushed on the way there, or they had never been deployed.

Vincent swore and pushed himself even harder, hurrying toward Old Nibelheim at speeds that would make a dunebike look slow. He crested a dune and the city was laid out before him, a mass of charred ruins and destroyed dreams. The smoke had been rising for what he estimated to be the better part of two days. He wasn't sure how long he'd been dead, but if the enemy had been striking here at the same time as the battle for New Nibelheim, it could not have been long.

He didn't stop to check the burned houses for bodies, doubting he would find any survivors there. If he was right, this was one person's doing, not an army of Lost's, and there would be no infected populace to destroy. Instead, he made straight for the Protectorate headquarters. The old Shin-Ra Mansion had finally seen its last days, its entire structure collapsed into a smoking heap of splintered beams and debris. Vincent came to a halt in front of it, despair weighing heavily on him. He was too late, he was too damn late.

"Vincent?"

The sound of his own name was the first human sound he'd heard since the screams of the man at the wreck of the mako reactor. Vincent instantly zeroed in on the position of the speaker; the man was propped up against one of the sides of the wreckage that smoldered the least, his soot-covered uniform making him almost invisible in the predawn light.

" **Reeve?"**

The ex-Commissioner of the WRO and now ex-head of the Protectorate stumbled to his feet. He looked like he had been through a lot, but beyond the visible signs of exhaustion on his wrinkled face and the soot on his uniform, he seemed unharmed. On his shoulder sat a battered but still-functional Cait Sith, which stared at Vincent with its beady eyes. "Vincent," Reeve breathed. "So you're alive! I don't know why, but I had a feeling that you would pull through despite everything." He looked miserably at his feet. "I don't know how to say this, Vincent."

" **I was about to say that to you,"** Vincent said. **"New Nibelheim is, as far as I know, lost. Cloud and Red XIII never showed up; they were probably attacked by the Immaculate Swords and either captured or killed. Michael killed me personally, and the only reason I was able to come back was because of Galian. Now I'm stuck with his body."**

Reeve's mouth dropped open in shock, and the Cait Sith comically mirrored its master's loss of all presence of mind. It was a good ten seconds before the man recovered enough of his wits to ask, "You mean, you're going to be like this… forever?"

" **As far as I can tell,"** Vincent replied grimly. **"I'm still me, just… well. You can see for yourself."** He looked at the Cait Sith, whose mouth was still hanging open, then back at Reeve. **"I'm going to tell you this right now, Reeve. I don't think we can win this."**

"I thought you might say that." Reeve took a shuddering breath. "You're not the only one."

" **Between New Nibelheim and the damage done here – wait."** Vincent focused even more intently on his old friend. **"What do you mean by that?"**

Reeve encompassed all the destruction and ruin around them with a gesture of his hand. "The Sixth Angel, Jegudiel, showed up not too long after you, Cloud, and Red XIII left. We began to mount what defenses we could, but…" He grimaced. "He said he was here to fulfill the Immaculate Swords' end of a deal."

Vincent felt an icy lump begin forming in his stomach. **"Who?"** he whispered. **"Who was the spy?"**

A look of unspeakable sorrow etched itself into Reeve's features. His mouth quivered, his brows furrowed and his eyes closed, and he clenched his hands into fists. "Yuffie."

It felt as though Vincent had been struck a vicious blow. **"You're not serious,"** he said. **"Yuffie would never turn her back on us and sell us out to the Immaculate Swords. That – she – she would had to have known since before we even discovered Cloud was alive, and – no. It can't be."**

"I saw Jegudiel uplift her myself," Reeve said, tears beginning to run from his cloudy eyes. "He jabbed her with a syringe full of JENOVA cells, and then another with what had to be the disease. It was… I can't even describe it. Everything she was, it just sort of… evaporated, but into black mist, and reformed – I don't even know. I thought Cait Sith's eyes might be malfunctioning, wanted to believe it, but I knew I was seeing exactly what was happening."

" **It must have been against her will. Yuffie wouldn't do that."**

"But it makes sense, Vincent. All the leaks. Renbato trailing you into Deepground. Barachiel's knowledge of when you two would be coming and how to separate you. How, if what you say is true, they were able to intercept Cloud and Red XIII on the way to New Nibelheim."

" **NO!"** Vincent bellowed. He lashed out and grabbed Reeve by the collar, lifting him into the air as though he weighed nothing. **"Not Yuffie! She wouldn't give in to their lies! She wouldn't turn her back on everything she ever believed in!"**

"You knew you hurt her when you left her," Reeve managed to get out. "And you knew she hated getting old, becoming frail and helpless. They must have approached her a while ago, told her they could make her young again –"

Vincent opened his mouth and roared, an expulsion of bestial fury that echoed through the ruins of Old Nibelheim. **"I DON'T BELIEVE IT! I WON'T!"**

"When Jegudiel finished uplifting her," Reeve went on, fighting through the painful ringing in his ears, "he told her to destroy the town. She looked at me, Vincent… She looked at me like I was an insect. And she told me, 'If you go into the basement, and stay there, I won't look for you.' Like it was too much effort for her to bother killing me, Vincent. Like I was a bug in front of her foot and she didn't even want to bother stepping on me."

" **LIAR!"** Vincent felt dark energy beginning to burn all up and down his body, white flames that danced along his fur.

"Are you going to kill me, Vincent?" Reeve asked. "Because from the way you're acting right now, I think you are."

With a supreme effort, Vincent made himself gently set Reeve down on the ground, taking great pains not to drop the old man. He felt rage and anguish building up behind his eyes, but he had no release, no way to let it out. For a moment he thought about just dropping to his knees and sobbing, but then it came to him that he had no way to do it; he was a demon, and demons did not have tears.

Reeve continued, "I went into the basement of the manor, and stayed down there until just a few hours ago. I came up here, saw what had happened…" He shrugged lamely. "I just couldn't take it. I sat down and decided to wait for death, I guess."

Vincent choked down his rage and forced himself to a level of relative calm. The only clue that he was still smoldering was the unnatural intensity burning in his eyes. **"No. I won't stand for it. I won't have it."** He turned to Reeve and pointed a clawed finger at him. **"We're not going to sit here and wait for death. We're going to go find Cloud and Red XIII, and anyone else who might have survived the battle of New Nibelheim, and we're going to make a stand."**

"But where?" Reeve asked.

" **I think you know where already. Wutai."**

Reeve made a hissing sound through his teeth. "You know that Rufus and I haven't seen eye-to-eye in a long time, Vincent. He's always been concerned about just keeping Wutai afloat, and he's told me many times he thinks my trying to help an entire continent is what's keeping us all in the dust. Will he help us?"

" **It's the end of the world, Reeve,"** Vincent replied. **"If he lets petty ideological differences get in the way, there really isn't any hope for humanity at all."**

"Fine, fine. Assuming he'll help us, then… how are we going to get there?"

Vincent dropped to all fours. **"First we find Cloud, Red XIII, and anybody else who might have survived. Then we'll figure out how to cross the ocean. Now get on."**

"You want me to…? I'm not sure I can."

" **Either you get on my back, or I carry you and only go half as fast. Your choice."**

With a sigh, Reeve swung onto Vincent's back, getting as comfortable as he could. "Where should we start looking?"

" **I have no idea. I was thinking we'd just head north and hope."**

"Sounds like as good a plan as any."

Vincent took off, leaving the ruins of Old Nibelheim behind. Reeve's survival was a boon, certainly, but his mind was dark and clouded with thoughts of Yuffie.

_Oh, Yuffie,_ he whispered to himself, his real voice now only audible inside his head. _What have you done?_


	33. Chapter 33

The sun beat down on the mass of people as they slowly traveled south.

Most of the vehicles they had taken up to New Nibelheim had been destroyed in the fighting or during the hasty retreat after the Losts had taken the wall. Water was running low and morale was lower.

At the front of what remained of the Protectorate army – perhaps four hundred people out of the thousand that had set out – marched two haggard figures. One of them was Marlene, who put up a brave if wearied front for the sake of those around her. The other was Denzel, who certainly did not feel physical fatigue or thirst any longer but still looked as though he had lost hope.

Marlene had not spoken to him since their encounter in New Nibelheim the day before. It felt like a lifetime ago; she'd had no sleep since before the battle. Still, they pressed on, afraid of being attacked from behind if they made camp. A forced march through the desert was little better than suicide, but Marlene wanted to make it at least another ten to fifteen miles before sundown; Old Nibelheim would be the next place attacked by the Immaculate Swords, and they had to buy enough time to mount a defense there.

Finally, Denzel spoke up. "Sort of reminds you of old times, doesn't it?"

She looked at him. "What?"

"The two of us, always together. I remember how you'd stand by my bedside and keep an eye on me, even though there was nothing you could do." Denzel's gaze was unfocused, staring into the distant past. "Did I ever tell you how grateful I was?"

"You mentioned it once or twice," Marlene said flippantly. "Then Tifa died and you disappeared."

The issue had been hanging in the air ever since they had seen one another again. Denzel had known this was coming. "Yes, I disappeared. I didn't want to live anymore, so I wandered off into the desert to die."

"You're a coward."

"So I've been told. That was then, and this is now. Is there any point in dwelling on the past?"

"I think there is," Marlene replied hotly. "Denzel, did it ever occur to you that I might have wanted some support? Tifa dying… it was like Mom's death all over again, except this time I was old enough to understand what was going on, what I was losing."

Denzel shifted uncomfortably as he walked. "You had people to turn to."

"Who, exactly? All the adults who told me I had to be strong and persevere?"

"Adults? Marlene, you were an adult too."

"Just barely. This shouldn't have happened, Denzel. At that age, I should have been off in Costa del Sol having trysts with beautiful dark men, not fighting for my survival in an endless hellhole and dealing with everybody I loved dying." She looked at him spitefully. "Who really understood me? You were the closest thing I had to a brother, and then you vanished into thin air. You never once stopped to consider what you'd be doing to everybody who cared about you – to me." For a moment her tirade faded, and then she added, "And as I recall, _you_ were an adult too. Didn't stop you from running away."

"I was selfish and not thinking clearly," Denzel said. "And I stayed that way for a very long time. It took Vincent kicking the shit out of me to make me see what an idiot I've been. I'm trying to change, Marlene, I really am, but you have to give me a chance first."

"I'm pretty sure you forfeited your rights to second chances when you gave up your humanity to become an immortal freak."

"That wasn't why I accepted Uriel's offer!" Denzel snapped.

"Really? Why did you, then?" Marlene shot back. "Did he promise you the pain would go away? Did he say he'd kiss it better with his needles?"

"You don't know what it was like! I had been suffering for so long, weighed down by so much guilt, and he told me that he could make it all vanish – poof! Gone. It was that or die alone and miserable in the desert."

"I thought that was why you left in the first place."

"Well, I couldn't stomach the idea. You called me a coward, I guess you're even more correct than you thought."

"You're a hypocrite."

"You think I don't know that? I'm trying to set things right, here! You saw me fighting!"

"I did. It doesn't mean I have to forgive you." She increased her pace and began to pull ahead of him, obviously intent on ending the conversation there.

"Marlene," Denzel said, a note of pleading in his voice. "Please." He caught her arm. She looked over her shoulder at him, barely-restrained fury burning in her eyes. "Vincent's dead; I saw him get vaporized by Michael. Cloud never showed up, so he's either dead or captured. You may be the only thing I have left in the world. If you, who used to be so close to me, won't accept that I'm trying to change, who will?"

"Nobody will," Marlene replied coldly. "Face it, Denzel. You can't fix some things once they're broken. You think you can just wave your hand and kill some Losts and make everything better? You left when I needed you the most. I'll never forget waking up and hearing that you'd gone missing." With an effort, she wrenched her arm free of his grasp. "You might not be an enemy any longer, but that doesn't mean we have to be friends or go back to the way things used to be. We stopped being brother and sister when you left me alone in the world with my grief because you were just so overcome with self-recrimination over some bullshit about your inability to protect Tifa. Get this – what the hell would you have done? You were never special. You had spirit, but you were never on Tifa's level – or the level of anybody in AVALANCHE, for that matter. If you'd been there, you would have just gotten in her way. She would've ended up protecting you, not the other way around."

Denzel stopped in his tracks. Marlene's words were like a slap in the face to him, both because of their acerbic nature and because he knew it was all true. As much as he might deny it, everything she said was terribly accurate, and there was nothing he could do.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

For a moment Marlene looked distraught, doubt entering her features, but then her expression hardened again and she turned her back on him. "Let's keep moving. We have a lot of ground to cover before we get to Old Nibelheim."

The words were barely out of her mouth when the sand dune in front of her exploded from the inside. A cascade of blinding grit was heaved into the air as something erupted out of the dune and leaped clear into the air. Denzel swore under his breath and brought up a wall of force between Marlene and the dune, but relaxed when he saw the source of the disturbance.

Red XIII landed deftly on his feet and shook the sand out of his fur. "About time," he said. His voice was slightly hoarse from what was obviously thirst, but he seemed otherwise fine. "I've been waiting for the better part of a day."

Wiping sand out of her eyes and spitting it out of her mouth, Marlene managed, "Red! What – you're alive!"

"Indeed. Do you have any water?"

She detached the canteen from her belt, judged that it was about half-empty – one never thought of things as half-full in the desert – and unscrewed the cap before extending it to Red XIII. "Here. Drink up – just try to leave some for me, okay?"

"Of course." Red XIII got his mouth around the neck, taking several long swigs. He extended it back to Marlene, who gently disengaged it from his fangs. "Much better." His voice was clearer now. He looked at Denzel, looked back at Marlene, and then did a double-take when he realized who was standing in front of him. "Not possible," he breathed.

Denzel grinned. "Red!"

"You're alive. How?" Red XIII paused, sniffing at the air. "You stink of the disease, Denzel. Are you…"

"It's a really long story," Denzel said, his grin faltering.

"Really long sob story," Marlene muttered.

"You can tell me it later. What are your capabilities?"

Looking embarrassed, Denzel took interest in his boots. "I was the Fifth Angel before I… well… quit."

The beast gave him a long, hard stare. "Hmm. You really _will_ have to tell me this long story of yours later… but for right now, Marlene, is he on our side?"

"He claims to be," she said sourly.

"I am!" Denzel protested. "I know I made some mistakes –"

" _Some?"_

"– but I'm trying to set them right! How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"I –"

"This argument," Red XIII cut in, "will not get us anywhere. If there is some dispute between the two of you, resolve it when we are all not in mortal peril."

Both Marlene and Denzel instinctively stiffened up and nodded. Memories of stern talking-tos from Uncle Red came to the forefronts of their minds. Those had always been hard to bluff their way out of, mainly because Red XIII had always been able to tell when they were lying.

"Now," the beast said, "I take it from the numbers and state of this army that we lost New Nibelheim and are in full retreat."

Marlene nodded glumly. "We managed to take out Uriel and most of their army, but they finally took the wall, Denzel was stuck trying to keep Gabriel pinned down and couldn't help, and it was just going to get messier from there, especially after Michael killed Vincent."

Red XIII stiffened. All the hair on his body stood up in one massive shock; his eye widened and his breath hitched. "What?"

Wishing she had checked herself and delivered the news with more discretion, Marlene said, "He… I helped him kill Uriel, or at least beat him into not much more than a pulp. Then Michael came over and made some kind of speech about his place and not sullying himself by fighting the unworthy and so forth… and then he disintegrated Vincent just by looking at him."

Obviously stunned, Red XIII sat down hard on his haunches, staring at nothing. "Vincent, dead…" he murmured. "And Cloud is gone too. Our situation is extremely dire, then."

"Cloud's gone?" Denzel asked.

"I smelled something on the wind," Red XIII said. "I felt myself falling asleep not a moment later. The last thing I remember is seeing Cloud also falling asleep, and Raphael the Third Angel appearing a moment later. When I woke up, both of them were gone. I am not dead, so I suspect he struck some kind of deal with her."

Marlene looked unequivocally horrified. "A deal?"

"In all likelihood, he is now in enemy hands, quite possibly in the ruins of the very city we were charged to protect."

"Wouldn't we have run into him and Raphael if they'd come north after your encounter with her?"

Red XIII's whiskers twitched in his version of a shrug. "The Immaculate Swords have access to methods of travel we do not. They could very easily have flown, or perhaps burrowed through the earth. They may have simply gone around, too – it would have been a poor decision on Raphael's part to reunite Cloud with all of you. I do not know her capabilities, but it would probably not have ended well for her."

"So that's why neither of you made it to New Nibelheim," Denzel muttered. "Raphael got her hooks in Cloud."

"What? What hooks?" Marlene demanded.

Denzel looked pained. "Raphael has this thing she does where she empathically leeches off of other people's emotions because she can't feel them herself any longer. It's the closest she ever comes to being actually happy. The Immaculate Swords, in general, are all very damaged people who have had most of their humanity stripped away –" one of his eyebrows twitched a little bit – "and the prisoners are worn down and used to their situation. But Cloud – she'll latch onto him and eat up everything he feels, use him like an unlimited source of ecstasy, and once it becomes too inconvenient to keep feeding off of him, she'll kill him."

Nobody knew quite what to say to that. They were spared the burden of having to come up with something, however, when someone appeared, seemingly out of thin air, on the sand next to Red XIII. "I'd be more worried about myself right now." The three of them looked at this sudden new arrival and all were shocked speechless.

Yuffie stood there, but she was not the old, wretched woman she had been. Her youth had been restored. Her face was smooth and healthy, her eyes burning with vitality, her hair sleek and black again. Her body was as lean and hard as it had ever been, and she stood on the sand with an easy grace she had not possessed in years.

She also wore a black, form-fitting jumpsuit; her pupils were a pair of vertical slits. Her old fuuma shuriken was nowhere to be seen. In either hand, she clutched a smaller version of the weapon, with wickedly curved and serrated blades the color of gunmetal.

"Yuffie!" Red XIII exclaimed. "You… what happened?"

She seemed to ignore him. "Look, guys. Surrender now and this won't get messy, I promise. Let's not drag this out longer than it has to go."

Denzel stepped between Marlene and Yuffie. "I might be saying the same thing to you. I don't know what you're trying to pull, but what advantage do you think you possibly have? You're a newly uplifted – I can take you down easily."

Yuffie smiled, but it was the smile of a viper closing in on an unsuspecting meal. It was a cold expression that did not reach her eyes. "I think you're giving me too little credit, Denzel." She did not seem the least bit fazed by his presence. "After all, I used to be the Great Ninja Yuffie."

"Used to be? What are you now?"

Her smile widened, showing perfect white teeth. "Can't you tell?

"I'm the new Uriel."

Instantly, Denzel threw all his power into sealing her inside a globe of force, the air shimmering around her. He'd managed to pin Gabriel down this way for quite some time, so he was confident he could keep her contained for a while. "You shouldn't have come alone," he said.

"She didn't," Jegudiel said, appearing behind Denzel, who stiffened and willed himself not to lose focus on keeping Yuffie contained. He would ordinarily have no problems defeating Jegudiel, who was, after all, his direct subordinate in terms of power, but there was no way he could split his attention between fighting the Sixth Angel and containing Yuffie, who was now far more powerful than him. "Release her now and it will go better for all of you."

A red blur smashed into the Sixth Angel and made him stagger back. Red XIII skidded to a halt on the sand, his hackles raised and teeth bared. "Don't be so presumptuous," he said. "You think you have us at a disadvantage?"

Jegudiel stood up straighter. "That was my impression."

Red XIII barked a short, derisive laugh. "Then you are a fool." He let out a bestial roar before declaring, "I am Nanaki, warrior of Cosmo Canyon and protector of the Planet!"

The Sixth Angel took an involuntary step back as sand sprayed out in every direction around Red XIII as the beast flared with spirit energy. His eye burned with a feral light, and iron-hard muscles stood out beneath his fur.

"Come," he snarled. "I will fight you."

* * *

"Morning," someone whispered in his ear.

Cloud muttered something vaguely affirmative in response and rolled over in bed. He had been having a strange dream. A young man with huge, staring eyes that never blinked had talked to him and told him many things about the future. All he could recall now was vague feelings – hopelessness and hope in equal measure, as strange as that sounded. He opened his eyes and saw Tifa lying there, smiling at him.

"Sleep well?"

He made a noncommittal noise. "Had strange dreams."

"What about?"

"I can't really say. I'm not even sure anymore. You know how you wake up and things just slip away."

"Mm." Tifa moved closer to him and pressed her mouth against his. A thrill shot through Cloud and he enfolded her in his arms, deepening the kiss.

Something was wrong, though. Something in the back of his mind was warning him – he had seen this before, and it was not right. Cloud opened his eyes and looked at Tifa as she kissed him. He saw she was looking at him, too, which was not terribly off-putting at first. Only a moment later did he remember, vividly, her saying she disliked opening her eyes while she was kissing him. He stared hard at her, examining every detail of her wine-colored eyes, and under his scrutiny they shifted and became somebody else's, transforming into a shade of deep purple.

Cloud's senses started functioning again. He was not lying in bed – he was on the floor of a half-destroyed building in New Nibelheim, and Raphael was kissing him.

That stopped quickly enough when he put a boot squarely in her midsection and kicked her across the room. She slammed into a wall, smashing it into rubble with the force of her impact, but unsurprisingly did not seem deterred in the least. The Third Angel gave him a mischievous grin. "I didn't realize you liked to be so rough, Cloud."

"You," Cloud said, getting to his feet, "are a whore." The word felt alien coming out of his mouth, but Gabriel's name for her seemed very fitting right now. Anger surged within him, but he choked it down and tried to stay calm. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of provoking him. "I can't believe you. Is there anywhere you won't go to get the tiniest scrap of emotion out of me?"

Raphael shrugged, brushing herself off. "I haven't decided whether or not I'm going to sleep with you yet. You might still have some hope there."

"Some hope."

She laughed. "You're just delightful, Cloud. You're trying so hard to keep a lid on all the hate so I don't pick up on any of it. I wasn't joking when I said that you're precious to me."

"With friends like you…" he muttered.

"Oh!" Raphael perked up and half-walked, half-skipped over to him. "Speaking of friends! Jegudiel and Uriel should be taking care of yours right about now."

Cloud stared at her, almost not noticing as she grabbed his hand and began to pull him out of the building into the daylight. "What? I thought Uriel died!"

"The first one did," Raphael said flippantly. She stopped for a moment in the doorway of the building, listening. "I think I hear a Seeder about to give birth! Let's go watch, it's always fascinating!"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Oh, Cloud. You're so silly sometimes." She dragged him down several streets, all the while ignoring him when he asked her what she meant by the first one. As far as he knew, there had been only one, and Vincent had managed to kill him before being beaten by Michael.

Finally they turned a corner, coming upon the Seeder in question. The beast was sprawled on the ground in the middle of what used to be a boulevard, surrounded by the rubble of collapsed structures. Its claw-legs twitched spasmodically, its multiple heads all emitted a low, awful moan, and the flesh of its massive torso seemed to be crawling from the inside.

Cloud pointedly kept his gaze fixed on Raphael, doing his best to ignore the horror she was watching with such intent. "I _said_ ," he repeated himself, "what do you mean, 'the first one?'"

She sighed dramatically. "If I go to the trouble of explaining, Cloud, will you be a dear and be quiet while the Seeder gives birth?"

The idea of having to compromise with her on so simple a matter was galling to him, but then again, that was what this entire captivity had started with – a compromise. "Fine," he said.

"All right, then. You recall how we wanted to induct you into the Angels and have you replace Barachiel? Depending on how powerful you turned out after your ascension, we would have assigned you an appropriate rank. You would probably come out somewhere between Selaphiel and Uriel, so we would have named you the new Selaphiel, the old Selaphiel would be the new Jegudiel, and the old Jegudiel would be the new Barachiel. You follow?"

"You mean your names aren't really yours – they're more like titles that come from your stations?" Short, sharp screams had begun to punctuate the constant moaning of the Seeder's heads.

"It was all the first Uriel's and Michael's idea," Raphael replied flippantly. "I don't pretend to really understand it. Anyway, the thing is – when Selaphiel defected and Vincent killed Uriel, we weren't going to just make Jegudiel the new Uriel. Uriel was still there, in our memories, and so was his power. You aren't ever promoted within the Angels; you're only moved down if somebody more powerful than you shows up. So when a newcomer showed up that was as powerful as Uriel, she became the new one."

"She?" Cloud asked. "Who?"

"I didn't really pay attention. Her name was Yuffie something."

Cloud felt his heart skip a beat. "No."

"No, what?" Now the Seeder was thrashing about on the ground, its claw-legs flailing uselessly as its entire bulk quivered.

"Yuffie… _Kisaragi?_ "

"There you go! I can never keep track of everybody's old names. A lot easier to just think of her as the new Uriel."

"But – that's –"

Raphael made a contemplative noise. "She was a friend, mm? If I had known telling you this would make you so distressed, I'd have done it earlier!" Her grip on his hand tightened, and he could feel her _vicarius_ at work, like cold, skittering fingers raking through his mind.

No words came to him. It made sense; the draw of immortality and a permanent farewell to old age would have been overpoweringly attractive to Yuffie, especially the withered, bitter woman he had come to know since his revival from his stasis pod. Still, some part of him didn't want to accept it – the complete and terrible betrayal, the fact that she had been the elusive mole the entire time… It hurt to think about, and there was no way for Cloud to try to conceal this from Raphael, not when she had her fingers entwined in his and her power at work inside his head.

"Yuffie," he finally sighed, looking up at the sky. "What were you thinking?"

The Seeder chose that moment to give one, last, horrible scream from all its heads. It was a long, wailing sound that cut the air and made Cloud's ears hurt. The scream slowly trailed off into a choking gurgle, and then he saw the miracle of birth.

All over the Seeder's bloated abdomen, long teeth began rending through its skin from the inside. Barely developed hands, already adorned with wicked talons, seized hold of the lacerated flesh and tore it aside. Inside of ten seconds, the body was reduced to a mass of oozing, bloody pulp, and newborn Losts, not much bigger than Cloud's head, swarmed out of the carcass of their parent, howling. They instantly turned on their mother – or perhaps father, there was really no way of telling – and began to devour it, ripping and biting at the flesh, shoving dripping gobbets into their mouths.

"Aren't they adorable?" his companion asked.

Cloud, for his part, was mightily fighting down a seemingly endless series of dry heaves that were wracking him, one after the other, determined not to throw up in front of this cruel ingénue. After a few minutes, he managed to choke down the last surge of bile and gasp, "No."

"Can't account for taste, I guess," Raphael said brightly. "Not bad for a first date."

Inwardly, Cloud swore it would be the last.


	34. Chapter 34

Jegudiel laughed.

The Sixth Angel bent double, clutching at his gut, as he laughed so hard he looked like he was in pain. Red XIII, poised to fight, did not let his guard down at the display, but anyone who knew him well enough could detect the confusion in his expression. He had not been expecting Jegudiel to start guffawing at his challenge.

After a minute, Jegudiel seemed to get control of himself. "Oh, my," he said. "'Come, I will fight you?' You truly are amusing, Red XIII."

"I'm not seeing the humor here," Red XIII growled. "When I said I would fight you, I meant it. Do you think me incapable or inexperienced? I'm almost a hundred years old, Jegudiel, and I've been fighting all my life. I think I should be more than a match for you, even with the abilities granted to you by your JENOVA-disease fluid."

Jegudiel spread his hands in a placatory gesture. "Come now. While your bravura is admirable, we both know I'm the better fighter. I can transform my body at will, I have no vital organs or weak spots to target, my reflexes and cognitive abilities far surpass those of ordinary mortals, and my uplifted state gives me raw power enough to rival the best fighters in the world. What are you compared to this?"

"I recall fighting something similar to you," Red XIII replied. "It was also a shapeshifter, without vital areas or discernable weaknesses; it had an alien intellect unlike anything the world had ever encountered; and it had tremendous and fearsome power over both the physical and mental." He bared his fangs in a grin. "It was called JENOVA, and now the only thing left of it is in your bodies. It thought it was a superior form of life, and we destroyed it utterly. Don't underestimate our capabilities. I was fighting monsters like you before you were even a gleam in your father's eye."

The mirth drained out of Jegudiel's expression, replaced with anger. "You talk big, beast, but you should know that if we fight, you will die. I've given you fair warning."

"If we fight, _one_ of us will die. Which one is up for interpretation."

Jegudiel sighed, cracking his knuckles. "Well. This is unfortunate, and it pains me to have to kill a superior being like ourselves, but your blasphemy can only be permitted to go so far." He raised his balled fists. "I will erase you from the surface of this world, and then I will kill your friends."

"Try me," Red XIII said.

He flashed into a blur, a streak of crimson flying at Jegudiel too fast for the eye to follow. The Sixth Angel dropped into a defensive crouch, bringing up a fist to try to bash Red XIII off-course.

The thing most people who fought Red XIII did not realize until it was far too late was that his entire body was a perfectly formed, absolutely lethal weapon. His jaws could crush stone. The claws that now unsheathed themselves from his fore- and hind paws were capable of leaving furrows in steel. He was not built for running long distances as Galian could, but at close range he could move at amazing velocities. A slam from him at top speed would break every bone in an ordinary human's body. The coiled muscles beneath his fur were amazingly strong, but he was also flexible, capable of performing incredible acrobatic stunts that often defied belief. From an evolutionary perspective, there was a reason his species had never been very numerous.

If there had been too many of them, they would have killed off everything around them.

Red XIII smashed into Jegudiel's incoming fist headfirst, the force of his charge reducing the Sixth Angel's extremity to a spray of viscous black liquid. He kept going, undaunted by the collision, and sank his teeth deep into Jegudiel's throat. With a short, sharp twist of his head, he ripped the man's head right off of his shoulders. It went flying, trailing bits of JENOVA-disease liquid after it.

Jegudiel, however, could function perfectly well without a head. He smashed a knee into Red XIII's chest, knocking the beast back. A spinning kick with his other leg followed, zeroing in on Red XIII's snout. The beast expertly ducked under the blow, spreading his forepaws out along the sand as he did so. He leaped again, this time twisting in midair to bring his hind legs around in a solid kick to Jegudiel's torso. The blow rocked the Sixth Angel back; he stumbled in the sand, still headless, trying to regain his balance.

Red XIII deftly landed on all fours, rolled over to get himself inside Jegudiel's space, came up on his hind legs in a one-two slash with his forepaws that opened up his opponent's abdomen like it was made of paper. Jegudiel tried another kick. His foot thudded into Red XIII's side, but it rebounded as though he had kicked a wall of stone. The beast snorted contemptuously, not even noticing the attack. He leaped back in an aerial somersault, spirit energy gathering around him as he did so. It focused in his legs, and as he landed he erupted forward in a blaze of motion. His Sled Fang took him straight through Jegudiel like the man wasn't even there. It took Red XIII thirty feet to bleed off his momentum and skid to a halt.

The sound of Jegudiel's body hitting the sand was very loud. It was barely recognizable as a humanoid form – the Sled Fang, after Red XIII had passed straight through Jegudiel, had exploded the Sixth Angel from the inside and reduced him to a black, oozing mass of flesh.

"You are formidable," the mass said, sprouting a mouth. "I will give you that much. There are advantages to your form not found within traditional humanoid bodies." Jegudiel began to reconstitute himself, the myriad black splatters of his being leaping toward his body.

Red XIII turned around to face his opponent. His eye widened when he saw what Jegudiel had become.

He was looking at himself – a jet-black, sleek version of him that sported no fur but was all coiled muscle and catlike grace. Jegudiel stalked forward on four legs, midnight fangs bared in a sick caricature of Red XIII's grin. "You look surprised. Did you think it would really be so easy?"

Spirit energy gathered around Jegudiel, and he blazed forward across the sand in his own Sled Fang. Tendrils of his JENOVA-disease fluid sprang up from his body and scythed ahead of him, sprouting razor-sharp edges. If he hit, he would tear Red XIII in half.

Red XIII sprang forty feet into the air, the muscles in his legs propelling him up almost seven times his height. He twisted around in midair, headdress glowing, and unleashed a bolt of lightning from his Thunder Materia. The gout of energy skewered Jegudiel straight through the torso; superheated fluid sprayed everywhere.

The Sixth Angel seemed not to notice, skidding to a halt. He glanced up at Red XIII, a sneer recognizable even on his distorted features. "Is that the best you can do? I don't want to kill you before you've given it your all!"

Red XIII deftly landed several dozen feet away from his opponent. "I see. You fight like Barachiel: you combat opponents with mimicry and add their repertoire of attacks to your own. You intend to glean every secret I have before finishing me off in order to increase your own power."

"Michael is right to respect you," Jegudiel said, sarcasm coloring his tone. "But you have made a critical error. I do not fight like Barachiel. Barachiel fought like me."

"You were his mentor, I take it."

"Precisely. We were once master and student, and the Immaculate Swords recruited us in the same sweep. I took my place above him, and our styles eventually diverged due to our differences in power and philosophy." Jegudiel lowered himself close to the ground, spirit energy gathering around him again. "He took only the techniques of his opponents and made them his own. I take everything the opponent is, his very essence."

"You seem quite proud of that," Red XIII observed. "You certainly boast about it enough."

Jegudiel snarled and charged forward in another Sled Fang, razor-edged tendrils raking the air in front of him, going so fast he kicked up a massive cloud of sand and dust in his wake. Red XIII saw the attack coming, of course, but did not budge, his eye fixed on Jegudiel's face.

An instant before the Sixth Angel would hit him, Red XIII leaped into a backward somersault, bringing his hind legs up in a cresting arc that took Jegudiel beneath the snout in a vicious uppercut. Charging too fast to stop, his Sled Fang ruined, Jegudiel tumbled off to the side. He missed Red XIII by bare inches, only managing to score him with a pair of lashing tentacles that drew lines of crimson along the beast's flank.

Behind Red XIII, a sand dune literally exploded as Jegudiel plowed into it. The sky darkened and glimmering lights began to coalesce above the billowing cloud of sand, glowing blue in the sudden and preternatural twilight. Rigid with concentration, Red XIII gathered stray spirit particles from the air and – through sheer force of will – compressed them into shining points of stardust that hovered on the wind. He focused until there were so many of the points glimmering in the air that they formed a strip of light, scrawled across the sky.

Then he let his concentration slip. The Stardust Ray plummeted to the ground in a rain of stars and went up in a chain of devastating explosions.

The sky returned to its normal blue. Slowly, the dust began to clear from the remains of the dune Jegudiel had blown into and Red XIII had then annihilated. Red XIII stood stock-still, panting, obviously having spent a great deal of his energy on that attack.

Suddenly, the sky began to darken again. Red XIII immediately realized what was happening, and he took off toward the sand dune at top speed. Jegudiel stood in the center of the drifting dust cloud, apparently unharmed. Spirit energy burned off of him in great, shimmering waves; the Stardust Ray's points of light began to coalesce above the red-furred beast even as he ran. With the force of a wrecking ball, Red XIII bowled into Jegudiel and sank his fangs deep into the Sixth Angel's face, but the ray had already formed in the sky. It began to plummet down toward its target.

Jegudiel planted his hind paws in Red XIII's stomach, drawing blood with his claws, and kicked the beast off of him. Red XIII went sprawling, rolled to his feet, saw the incoming curtain of destructive force. He did the only thing he could: he coiled his muscles and leaped high into the air again. A large section of the Stardust Ray exploded as he passed through it; however, the ray did its real damage by falling on top of its target and setting off a massive chain reaction within itself. Therefore, he was comparatively unhurt.

Still, he would most likely have died if the full Ray had hit him, so comparatively unhurt meant he was burned all across the front of his body. The fur was seared off of his face and shoulders, leaving smoking flesh beneath it, and he landed in a heap rather than on all fours, stunned.

Jegudiel strode forward, his every movement screaming menace. "A partial hit from your own attack and you go down, Red XIII? What happened to the proud warrior of Cosmo Canyon?"

"My tribe," Red XIII growled, staggering to his feet, "had a saying. 'Courtesy is not mocking the enemy before you kill him.'"

"Are you begging for your life?" Jegudiel laughed.

"There was another saying that accompanied the first," the beast continued. "'Those who are courteous live longer.'"

In an instant, the glowing red sphere of Cosmo Memory had formed above his head. The red beam erupted forth and pierced Jegudiel straight through, from the tip of his snout to the end of his tail, which was held out straight behind him.

Then the beam exploded.

The Sixth Angel was blasted back by the force of the attack, a great part of his mass seemingly vaporized by the lance of energy and the subsequent detonation as it lost stability. An oozing black mass collapsed against the side of another dune, twitching randomly and quickly losing its cohesiveness. Red XIII collapsed to the ground, exhausted from the effort of forming his most powerful attack in less than a second. He knew he did not have anything left in him except the one gamble he was taking by hitting Jegudiel with Cosmo Memory.

Slowly, the Sixth Angel got to his feet, reconstituting himself in Red XIII's form. "That was extremely stupid of you," he said. "You may have destroyed a good portion of my body with that attack, but it has clearly taken everything out of you. I, meanwhile, do not tire or lose energy in the same way you do."

The glowing red sphere began to form above Jegudiel's head, energy spiraling in from the surrounding air and compressing into a ball of enormous destructive potential. "And now, I know how to perform your most powerful technique. Do you have any last words, Red XIII?"

"None that you would appreciate," Red XIII replied.

Jegudiel made a rippling motion with his shoulders that approximated a shrug. "Then die."

His Cosmo Memory flashed down at Red XIII, the brilliant red lance of energy searing close to the ground and melting the sand into bubbling glass with its very passage. The beast looked up at his impending doom and bared his fangs in a defiant grin.

From his vantage point, Jegudiel could see nothing but the blinding red glow of the beam. He laughed as it shot straight at Red XIII, then waited for the explosion to destroy what was not utterly vaporized.

Nothing happened.

The beam continued to glow a bright red, but it had stopped moving altogether. It swirled around its target and then compressed itself back into the sphere of force, throbbing with power. Red XIII stood, seemingly unaffected by the beam. He looked at Jegudiel with an expression that could be nothing except pure contempt.

"How?" Jegudiel demanded. "How did you do that?"

"I would tell you," Red XIII said. "But I know it will be far more aggravating for you to never know. Goodbye, Jegudiel."

Then he braced himself against the sand. The Cosmo Memory erupted back at Jegudiel, twice as powerful as before, and this time the beam did not just pierce through him – it engulfed him entirely. The Sixth Angel screamed as he felt his form being ripped apart from without and within, and then the beam detonated in a blast so powerful it kicked dozens of tons of sand into the air.

* * *

Several hundred feet away, Marlene stood with Denzel, watching the exchange between Red XIII and Jegudiel. The explosion from Red XIII's final attack rose into the sky, and the sun was blotted out by the sand and dust it threw into the wind. His single Cosmo Memory kicked up a huge storm that reduced visibility beyond a few feet to nothing and made Marlene cover her eyes.

"I think he got him," she murmured.

Denzel did not take his eyes off of Yuffie for a second. "Good." He kept all his focus on maintaining the walls of force around her, knowing full well that her being the new Uriel meant she could kill both of them without too much effort.

"Finally," Yuffie said.

Marlene whirled to look at her old friend. "Don't try to confuse us," she said, anger coloring her tone. "You betrayed the Protectorate so you could be uplifted and take the easy way out of dealing with your mortality. I'm not going to believe for a second that you're still on our side."

Yuffie shrugged. "Believe what you want, Marlene. I… I'm not who I used to be, but I'm not Uriel, either. I just had to put on a scary face for Jegudiel. If I let slip that I'm not totally loyal to the Immaculate Swords and he managed to get away, things would get complicated."

"As though they aren't already," Marlene sneered. "Give me one reason why we shouldn't kill you right now."

"Because you can't," Yuffie replied. "I'm more powerful than Denzel. Red XIII isn't in any condition to fight right now, not after killing Jegudiel. Maybe the two of them could take me together – _maybe_ – but that's not an option right now."

"You don't think so?"

Red XIII strode out of the whirling sand right behind Marlene. A Restore Materia glowed in his headdress; his wounds were gone and his scorched fur had mostly regrown. He regarded Yuffie with a dangerous gleam in his eye. "I will not be fully recovered for at least four hours, but I do not see any reason we cannot hold you like this until then," he continued. "This betrayal saddens me, Yuffie."

"Not a big surprise," she said.

The problem of Yuffie aside, Marlene was still curious about what the hell had just happened. "Red," she asked, "how did you… with Cosmo Memory…?"

"Jegudiel's greatest strength was also his weakness," Red XIII said. "He knew only how to mimic my abilities, not improve upon them or recognize weaknesses within them. I began to suspect this as soon as he used Sled Fang. The fact that his use of the maneuver was identical to mine was telling, because the muscular composition of his legs was only visually similar to my own; his body obviously worked very differently from mine. If he had been an innovator and not simply a mimicker, he would have realized that the spirit energy pattern of Sled Fang is such that it compensates for the great stresses of the maneuver on my body even as it provides power. Not being bound by the same limitations as myself, he could have achieved far more killing power with it than I can. However, he did not, so I became suspicious.

"I made sure my theory was correct by using Stardust Ray, which requires complex interweaving patterns of spirit particles to achieve the trademark chain reaction of explosions. Ordinarily, any contact with its target is enough to trigger the ray's reaction; however, I purposefully modified the patterns to only detonate after a set amount of time instead of on contact. When he used the ability on me, I charged him and acted desperately to let him think I was not anticipating his survival of the move. Then I purposefully passed through the ray and triggered explosions in part of it. When it did not set off the chain reaction, my suspicions were confirmed.

"The coup de grace was how I then changed Cosmo Memory, which is naturally the most complex of all my attacks. I knew an ordinary use of it in my now-debilitated condition would not be sufficient to destroy him, and I would not have a second chance before he retaliated, so I changed the particle structure of the beam. The modified attack was identical in every way to the original, with the exception that it remained mutable by my will even after it was fired. Therefore, when Jegudiel struck back with that version of Cosmo Memory, I deflected the beam around me, then combined his spirit energy with my own and produced a beam twice as powerful as usual."

Marlene had no idea quite what to say to all of that, so Red XIII summed it up for her. "In the end, Jegudiel hoped to defeat me by turning my raw power against me. He neglected to account for my far more formidable aspect, that which makes me truly dangerous – the fact that I am a genius."

Yuffie, who had been listening intently to the whole exchange, laughed. "Only you could say that without it being pretentious, Red."

"I do not find it funny," Red XIII said. He stalked forward until he stood just shy of the wall of force Denzel was keeping up around Yuffie. "Explain yourself. Right now."

"I don't think I need to. You know why I did what I did – the Immaculate Swords approached me early on, when nobody knew about them, and said they would make me young and useful again if I helped them out."

Red XIII snorted. "And you _believed_ them?"

"They gave me pretty good proof. My thinking was that I would take them up on their offer, let them think I was on their side, take their magical miracle drink and get my youth back, and then backstab them."

"How familiar."

"Don't get snippy with me, Red."

"You realize that you leaked vital information to them, do you not? You put Vincent and Cloud in jeopardy on multiple occasions, compromised the Protectorate itself to the enemy – and, if the absence of Reeve's Combat Cait Siths at New Nibelheim means anything, you helped Jegudiel kill Reeve and destroy Headquarters."

"I _saved_ Reeve!" Yuffie snapped. "Jegudiel was hot and ready to kill him, but I convinced him not to. Told him it would be more suitable to let Reeve die alone in the desert, blind."

"You are the epitome of kindness," Red XIII snarled.

"Better than letting my super-duper best buddy snap his neck right then and there!"

"I can't believe you'd defend yourself," Marlene said. "After everything you've done!"

"I never thought things would get this screwed up," Yuffie insisted. "I thought the Immaculate Swords were some nutcases with delusions of grandeur and a way to actually get my golden days back. How was I supposed to know how crazy they were, or how many people they'd kill?"

"You still haven't answered my accusations of putting Vincent and Cloud in mortal danger."

"I knew Vincent would be able to handle Renbato and Cloud would be able to take Barachiel. They're my friends, and I know how strong they are. And when I sent word that the three of you – you, Vincent, and Cloud – were on your way up to New Nibelheim, I got word from Michael. He told me he'd send Jegudiel to uplift me, and he promised not to kill any of you – just to capture you. I figured I could spring all of you once I had the Immaculate Swords' powers, and –"

"You're a fool!" Red XIII roared, cutting her off. "You wanted this panacea for your mortality so badly you let it blind your judgment! You thought a promise from Michael meant anything? The man is insane, Yuffie!"

"You're all alive, aren't you?" Yuffie countered. "Jegudiel told me that Raphael has Cloud, and that's not cool but we'll figure out a way to make it right, and you're here, and Vincent is in the North Crater, being held but taken care of…"

She slowly trailed off as she saw the look of realization in Red XIII's eye when she asked him if they were all alive.

"You _are_ all alive, right?"

"No," Marlene said. She walked up to Yuffie and hissed, "Vincent's dead. I saw Michael disintegrate him with my own eyes. He was there one moment, and then – _poof._ No more Vincent Valentine. Fat lot of good that promise did you, huh?"

Yuffie stared at her, uncomprehending. "But… Michael told me himself… Vincent…"

"He lied," Marlene spat. "What did you expect? He's been using you, Yuffie, using your fear of old age and dying and being useless, and he let you make up all these nice excuses for yourself about how you'll make it right and how everyone will survive your stupidity. Well, it all came to nothing, didn't it? _Vincent Valentine is dead._ "

They all stood there in silence for a long moment, the statement hanging in the air.

" **No. I am not."**

Yuffie whirled around in her invisible cell, and the rest of the party stared in shock as Vincent, apparently wearing Galian's form, padded out of the whirling sand, Reeve riding on his back. The ex-head of the Protectorate scrambled off onto the sand, and Vincent rose to his full, daunting height.

" **I am alive,"** he said, staring at Yuffie with hate burning in his yellow eyes, **"and I am angry."**


	35. Chapter 35

"Vincent," Yuffie breathed. "You _are_ alive." She looked triumphantly at Marlene. "See? Michael kept his word."

" **His word?"** Vincent asked, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. **"Did he promise you he wouldn't harm me, is that what you think? He atomized me and killed me before I could raise a single finger against him."**

"Then how –"

**"I got help from an unexpected source in the Lifestream. I managed to return to the world, but I gave up something along the way."**

Red XIII padded forward and sniffed at Vincent. Understanding gleamed in his eye, and his expression fell. "You don't smell like yourself any longer," he said. "You only smell like Galian."

Yuffie stared at Vincent, horror written all over her face. "You're… you're stuck like that?"

 **"The Lifestream had to take a life-force, a soul. I had two residing within me, so I had Galian return to the Planet in my place – but Michael destroyed me completely. The only thing left to form a body from was Galian's power that I had assimilated, so…"** He gestured bitterly at himself. **"I'm stuck like this. Forever."**

"No," she whispered.

 **"And just when I thought it could not get any worse,"** Vincent continued, **"I find out you're the traitor and you have been the entire time. The only thing that kept me going when I discovered what I had become was the prospect of finding you and apologizing to you, and now – well, it would be a waste of energy, wouldn't it?"** He stalked forward, white-hot power flickering all along his body. **"WOULDN'T IT?"**

"I – I didn't… Vincent, I wanted this – I wanted…"

**"What did you want, Yuffie? To be young again? To not have to worry about growing old and dying? To have immortality? In more than a century of living, when has immortality ever brought me happiness? I wanted to grow old and share my life with you, but I never could because there was always a gap between us, an impasse that just kept growing wider as the years wore on! Why? Because I can't die!"**

Yuffie pressed herself up against a wall of her invisible cell. "I wanted," she said, "for you to love me again."

Vincent looked at her as though she'd shot him in the gut, an expression of hurt and betrayal and sudden realization. He raised a massive hand and laid it over his eyes, taking long, panting breaths. **"Oh, Yuffie,"** he sighed. **"You are such a fool."** He removed his hand from his face, his expression plaintive and distraught even through Galian's terrible features. **"I never stopped loving you."**

Silence hung thick in the air between them, and nobody dared break it. In the quiet, something passed between the two. Yuffie turned away from Vincent, a hand over her mouth. Marlene, Denzel, Red XIII, and Reeve looked on grimly.

Finally, Yuffie seemed to recover her voice. "Then why did you –"

 **"I broke off our relationship because I was afraid,"** Vincent said. **"I was afraid something was going to go wrong, something was going to happen to you, and it would be my fault – just like it was with Lucrecia. I was frightened of what I was getting into and did not want to take responsibility for my actions if the worst should happen. So I did the only thing I knew – I ran away."**

She turned her head and looked at him out of the corner of her eye, her back still facing him. "Really? That was it, Vince? You… you were just afraid?"

Vincent cast his gaze down at his feet, studied the way his claws dug into the sand. **"Yes,"** he murmured. **"And it was wrong of me. I should have realized… I have been running all my life, and this was no different. I should have asked for your help, should have tried to tell you what was going on instead of shutting you out of my life."** His gaze bored into the back of her head. **"I am sorry."**

Yuffie said nothing for a long, tense moment. Finally, she lowered her face, unwilling to look into Vincent's terrible yellow eyes any longer. "We're both idiots," she said. "You know that, right, Vince?"

He nodded. **"Complete fools."**

"You always had to do everything yourself, and never let yourself get close to anyone out of fear of hurting them. And me… I fell into that same trap. I just thought it would all work out."

Vincent gestured at Denzel. **"Let her go."**

"Are you insane?" Denzel asked, wide-eyed. "Just because she's sorry, Vincent, you're going to –"

 **"What did I say,"** Vincent snarled, **"about FOLLOWING MY ORDERS?"**

Denzel swallowed hard and let down the walls of force around Yuffie. Red XIII and Marlene exchanged glances; they had never seen Vincent explode like that before. The look that passed between them said, without the need for words, _How much of Vincent is really left in there?_

 **"Besides,"** Vincent continued, appearing to calm down, **"as I recall, we believed you and let you join our side simply because you're sorry."**

"But –"

Something insane flashed in Vincent's eyes, and he took a step toward Denzel, but then he appeared to catch himself. **"Denzel…"**

"Denzel's right, though," Yuffie said.

**"What?"**

"I can understand why you let him rejoin you guys," she went on. "But me… If I come back, people will start asking questions. They'll figure out what happened, and they won't trust me – and they'll stop trusting you, for letting me back in."

 **"I don't think anyone will trust me as I am now anyway,"** Vincent said bitterly. **"I've become a monster, a freak. Maybe I always was one."**

Red XIII shook his head. "You are not a freak, Vincent. You are you – you never compromised yourself or chose to be this way, and that will be good enough for anyone." He turned to Yuffie. "You, on the other hand, are indeed a freak."

 **"Red!"** Vincent snapped.

"He's right too," Yuffie said. "We can't go back to the way things were before, Vincent. I'm a traitor."

"Go back to the Immaculate Swords," Red XIII told her. "We owe you at least this in memory of the friendship we once had. The next time we meet, it will be as enemies." He stalked up to her and said, in a much lower voice that only Vincent could hear, "And when that time comes, you and Vincent will truly settle things. You cannot keep living in the world you forsook; you will either take it from us or die, and the only one who can face you is him. That is the way it must be."

"I understand," Yuffie replied. She took a deep breath. "Vincent –"

He did not look at her, but she could see his eyes. They still burned with hate, but something tempered it – sorrow, resignation, perhaps both. **"Go,"** he said. **"You have your part to play, and I have mine."**

She turned to go, and he said to her back, **"But make no mistake, Yuffie. Red XIII is right. What you did is unforgivable. Denzel has already agreed to accept the consequences of his actions, and you must do the same as well. When we meet again, I will have to kill you."**

"I know, Vincent, **"** Yuffie murmured. "I know."

In an instant, she dissolved into a fine black mist that spiraled up into the air, riding the wind, and was gone.

* * *

The sun had set before the Protectorate army and the refugees from New Nibelheim stopped and made camp for the night. After Vincent's and Reeve's arrival, the mass of people had stopped making for Old Nibelheim and had instead diverted west toward Wutai, which was still a good distance off. They had made it almost to what was left of Rocket Town, and it would take perhaps two more days to get to the western shore.

A branch of the Central Continent extended a good distance out into what had once been the ocean and was only a few dozen miles away from a similar protrusion from the Western Continent, forming a strait. It seemed like their best bet for getting across. Nobody, however, had any idea how they were going to get more than a thousand people over the strait. Reeve had assured the crowd they would think of something, but they only had two days in which to do so.

Vincent had said little since the encounter with Yuffie, stalking along silently at the fore of the crowd and responding to questions in monosyllables. It seemed like he had regressed to the days when he had just joined AVALANCHE, when nobody knew quite what to make of him and he did not trust any of them.

Sitting around a fire for warmth that night, Reeve said to him, "I'm sorry about Yuffie, Vincent."

**"Hmph."**

"Do you want to talk?"

**"No."**

"It's just going to fester inside you unless you open up, you know," Reeve pressed him.

**"Hn."**

The ex-head of the Protectorate sighed. "Fine. Just don't say I didn't warn you."

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Vincent's lips peeled back from his teeth in a grin and he barked a short, sharp laugh. Reeve started at the sound. **"Who could have foreseen this?"** Vincent asked. **"Reeve Tuesti and Vincent Valentine, sitting around a campfire in the middle of a desert, in full retreat from an enemy they have no hope of defeating. I wonder who could have warned us about this."** It was the most he'd said in hours.

"I don't follow you," Reeve said.

Vincent gazed into the fire, the flame reflected in his yellow eyes. **"If you had told me a month ago that the world was going to fall to a group of insane, alien beings, I would have thought you were going senile. As it stands…"** He shrugged.

"The world's gone crazy, yes," Reeve agreed. "But it's our world, and we have to protect it." He gauged Vincent carefully before saying, "For our future generations, we have to keep it safe from whoever would hurt it – even if they used to be our friends."

 **"I still can hardly wrap my mind around it,"** Vincent said. **"Just when you think you have a solid grip on reality, and it seems that things can't get any worse…"** He shifted around on the sand, closing his eyes. **"It hurts me to think about her, Reeve, and to know that I will have to fight her and, in all likelihood, kill her. It hurts me to know what she did."**

Reeve said nothing, knowing he would break the spell that had come over Vincent. He had to let the man open up of his own accord. He merely listened, the Cait Sith on his shoulder even cocking its head and holding a hand up to its ear as it sensed his intent.

 **"I think of her,"** Vincent went on, **"and I want to cry, Reeve. I haven't cried in more than fifty years, and now I can't, because Galian doesn't have tear ducts."**

Unobtrusively, Reeve scooted himself around the fire and put a hand on Vincent's massive shoulder. "I know how you felt – feel – about her, Vincent. But this conflict, this war, ultimately comes down to a matter of principles, and we can't compromise those. Denzel's crimes are like a drop in the ocean compared to what Yuffie did. It's like you said yourself. Some things can be forgiven. Others… well."

**"I know. I… I'll need to remember to thank Red XIII. He stepped up and did what nobody wanted to do. He made it clear that she could not come back to us and why. I don't think I would have had the strength to do that."**

Reeve patted him on the shoulder before standing up and moving to leave. "Get some sleep, Vincent. You deserve it after everything that's happened. We'll move again at dawn."

Some distance away, Red XIII paced atop a large, flat rock jutting up from the sand. He could just hear Vincent's and Reeve's conversation, carried on the breeze. When Vincent said he would have to thank the beast, he snorted and started pacing faster.

He had done what was necessary, it was true. He had been able to tell that nobody else would come forward and stand against Vincent, who, in his grief, had certainly been ready to forget all the unforgivable things Yuffie had done. Everything had been necessary.

And he hated himself for it.

His grandfather had had a favorite saying – "It is the burden of the fool to relate those unpleasant truths nobody else will." Red XIII had certainly played the fool, and he despised it.

In the crowd, several dozen feet away, a little girl asked her mother, "Mommy, why is the big kitty walking around like that?"

"That big kitty is Red XIII, darling, and he's a very important person," the mother replied. "He's pacing because he must have a lot on his mind."

Red XIII heard them. He laid down on the rock, put his paws over his face, and wept silently.

* * *

"Well, well," someone said in Reeve's ear. "I never thought I'd see you again, Reeve Tuesti."

Reeve woke with a start. He couldn't see, of course, so the Cait Sith sitting next to him looked wildly around for the source of the voice.

The automaton didn't have to look for long. Crouching next to Reeve was a man in a neatly pressed white suit and long coat.

Reeve scrambled to his feet, the Cait Sith hopping up onto his shoulder. "Rufus Shin-Ra," he breathed. "What the hell happened to you?"

Rufus was not the man he had once been. His eyes practically shone with an unnatural mako glow. Luminescent blue veins and arteries stood out from beneath his skin, spiderwebbing his face and hands with muted blue radiance. His hair was the color of gunmetal, and the skin that did not glow from the mako beneath was grey and pasty. His features were still young and handsome, however, the skin tight on his bones, and he straightened up from his crouch with a catlike grace that suggested daily workouts and powerful musculature.

His voice was still deep and arrogant as ever. "The discovery of mako's unique geriatric properties happened to me, Reeve." He looked his old companion up and down, lingering for a moment on Reeve's cloudy eyes. "A dose a day keeps death at bay, as the saying goes in Wutai. Of course, I'm not really human any longer, but it's a small price to pay for continual peace and prosperity."

Reeve began to draw back instinctively, then forced himself to stand his ground. "What about the Turks?" he asked, dreading the answer.

"Oh, they're all on it as well," Rufus replied easily. "I couldn't let my loyal bodyguards grow old and die while I'm still in need of their protection, now could I?" He grinned, revealing unnaturally white teeth. "I understand you need our help."

"Yes… but how did you know? And for that matter, how did you get here?"

Rufus snapped his fingers. A second later, an enormous zeppelin burst down through the cloud cover, floating silently in the air despite its size. Reeve stared, not bothering to hide his shock. The ship was massive, capable of holding at least five hundred people.

"That," Rufus said, "is Shin-Ra One _._ Of course, there's no two or three yet, but we naturally hope to make more at some point." He wet his lips with a grey tongue before leaning in close and saying almost confidentially, "We call her the _Deus Ex Machina._ "

"Wutai must be doing very well for itself under your leadership," Reeve murmured.

"Of course it is," Rufus replied. "I once ruled a company bigger than any other nation-state in the world. One country is a simple matter."

"You still need to tell me how you knew to find us here."

"Reeve, you're not the only one who can see through the eyes of your Cait Siths."

"You've been spying on us!"

"Only for the past day. Just two days ago I received word about your troubles with these Immaculate Swords, and then the fall of New Nibelheim was reported to me shortly afterward. I knew there would be refugees and decided it would be nice if you owed me a favor."

Reeve's brow furrowed. "Rufus, if we don't defeat these foes, you won't be left alive to collect on that."

The President of Wutai shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't plan on losing." He pulled the collar of his coat, which had a transmitter sewn into it, closer to his mouth. " _Deus Ex Machina,_ this is your President speaking. Stay above us on surveillance duty until the refugees get to the strait in twenty-four hours. At that point we will begin ferrying them across."

He paused for a moment, obviously received an acknowledgment, let the coat's collar drop back to its normal position. Reeve looked at him, not wanting to question their good fortune but forced to point out a flaw in Rufus's plan. "Rufus, we can't move these people to the strait in twenty-four hours. We'd have to institute a forced march, and there are women, children, and the elderly…"

"Those who fall behind get left behind," Rufus replied brusquely. When Reeve began to protest, he cut the older man off. "Think of it as lightening the load on the _Deus Ex Machina,_ or think of it as natural selection at work, or think of it as not wanting to idle any longer than necessary when there are bloodthirsty monsters at your back. I don't care how you justify it to yourself and to your people – just do it. Those who make it to the strait by this time tomorrow get to come to Wutai. Those who don't die."

Reeve scowled at his old colleague. "You're a bastard, Rufus."

The young man who was not actually young at all grinned at Reeve again. "I know I am, Reeve. More than anyone else in the world, I imagine."

* * *

Vincent was asleep by the fire, curled up on the sandy ground, when he felt someone approaching.

Ordinarily, he would have listened to the footsteps, identified them as belonging to a small child – a boy, anywhere from seven to nine years old – and ignored him or told the boy to go away.

However, something inside him snapped. Boiling rage filled his senses, combined with an alertness and hyperacuity that were almost bestial in nature. No – that was their exact nature, the reaction of an animal surprised out of a light sleep.

Vincent leaped to his feet and roared, a sound that echoed for miles and screamed like the approach of a freight train. He rounded on the boy, his entire body engulfed in white-hot flames of dark power, his mouth open, slaver dripping from his lips. Then he growled, deep in the back of his throat, and took a step forward.

The boy screamed and took off running in the opposite direction, back toward the crowd of people, hollering at the top of his lungs for his mother. Vincent stiffened, his muscles poised to leap the twenty feet between them. He wanted to crush the boy's delicate skull like an egg and peel the young skin from his bones with his teeth.

Then he gasped as his head cleared. He staggered back, clutching at his chest, where his heart was hammering like he had been running a marathon.

He could feel the eyes of people on him, most fearful, some angry. Vincent shook his head violently, trying to remove the last of the cobwebs from his senses. What had that violent reaction been? He didn't actually want to kill the boy. Yet – the adrenalin still pumping through him and the way all his senses were strained to a razor's edge told him differently. For a moment, however brief, he had been nothing more than a predator, a wolf with the overwhelming urge to hunt.

A mounting sense of calamity and hopelessness set in as he sat back down in front of the dying fire. He remembered his earlier outbursts when he had confronted Yuffie, and when Reeve had first told him of her treachery. It had seemed reasonable enough for him to be angry at the time, but it had gone beyond anger – his judgment had been impaired, he had stopped thinking rationally and begun acting on instinct.

 **"I'm going insane,"** Vincent murmured. He was not joking.

"You are probably right."

Vincent started, but managed to keep himself from flying into another frenzy. He listened to the padding footsteps approaching, identifying them as belonging to Red XIII. A moment later, the beast sat down next to Vincent in front of the fire. His eye looked red, and the fur on his face was wet.

 **"You've been crying,"** Vincent said. It was not a question.

"Yes," Red XIII replied, saying everything with one word. He paused for a moment, letting Vincent soak that in.

**"Why do you think I'm probably right?"**

"I often deal with animalistic urges in response to external stimuli. My intellect and reason are powerful, but they are coupled with the body and instincts of a beast." As though to accentuate his point, Red XIII scratched behind one of his ears with a hind paw, a uniquely animal gesture. "I have dealt with this dichotomy all of my life. You, however, have just been thrust into a body you are unfamiliar with, which has urges you have never experienced. Between that, the demonic nature of the body, and the enormous stress you're under, you may be experiencing a deterioration of your faculties."

Vincent looked down at his hands, noticed how the firelight danced off of the black talons on his right one and the bronze of his gauntlet. "I don't want to go crazy," he muttered. **"Not on top of everything else we're dealing with."**

"If it makes you feel any better," Red XIII said, "I do not want you to go crazy either, Vincent."

Despite the gravity of the situation and the doom he was facing, Vincent had to smile at that. **"Thanks,"** he said, delicately scratching Red XIII behind the ears, being very careful with his talons.

"What will you do?" the beast asked after a time.

 **"I don't have to last that much longer,"** Vincent said, feeling the inevitability of his fate weigh on him even as he spoke. **"I just have to hold out until I can see my part of this conflict through.**

**"I just have to stay sane until I can see Yuffie… one last time."**


	36. Chapter 36

"It's time for you to escape."

Cloud opened his eyes, woken from a dreamless sleep by the sound of a strange voice. He came fully awake when he realized Gabriel stood over him. The Second Angel had fixed Cloud with his unblinking stare, a solemn expression on his face.

"Escape?" Cloud asked. "How? Where to?"

Gabriel extended a hand. For an instant, Cloud stared blankly at it before realizing the boy's intent. Then he grasped it, letting Gabriel pull him to his feet. The building the two of them stood in was the house Cloud had slept in for the past few nights, the predawn glow of the horizon barely visible through the windows lining its walls. "I've procured a long-range, rapid-deployment helicopter I believe you should be able to pilot. Your companions from the Protectorate, as well as the refugees from New Nibelheim, are on their way to Wutai. You should be able to rendezvous with them there and prepare yourself for your last stand."

That seemed strange. Cloud remembered having been told Rufus was now in charge of Wutai, but from the way it had been put he hadn't expected any help from the ex-President of Shin-Ra. "Why Wutai? Wouldn't Old Nibelheim be closer?"

"Old Nibelheim no longer exists," Gabriel replied. "While our main force attacked this city, Jegudiel was dispatched with orders to uplift Yuffie Kisaragi and destroy the Protectorate stronghold while it was vulnerable. I've just been brought up to speed by Michael and commanded to prepare this city and the army to receive him."

That was bad news, but it confirmed Cloud's suspicions about the mission Jegudiel had said he'd been sent on. However, it was the second thing Gabriel said that really grabbed Cloud's attention – since he'd arrived, he hadn't seen a single trace of Michael. "Where has he been, anyway?" Cloud asked.

"He returned to the North Crater to recover his power," Gabriel replied.

"Did killing Vincent really take that much out of him?"

The Second Angel sensed the hope in Cloud's words and shook his head. "Only in a certain sense. To put it in a way you will understand, Michael atomized Vincent by exerting his sheer force of will on the Lifestream within Vincent's body and ripping it apart. Such a thing is monstrously difficult, even for Michael, and he needed to rest afterward. Our base in the North Crater has many amenities and devices to aid in his recuperation, so he returned there.

"However, Michael is obsessed with symbolism. The way he destroyed Vincent was evocative of the utter annihilation he will bring to bear against all his enemies, and he chose to use it because of that symbolism, not because it was an easy or practical way to kill. As a comparison, you could choose to kill somebody by cutting them a thousand times with a dull knife instead of merely decapitating them with your sword. It would not be efficient and you would very likely need to recuperate afterward, but it would have a very different effect on witnesses than the decapitation."

Cloud sighed. "So when he fights us for real, he's not going to have to stop and wait two days after killing one of us. That's too bad."

"Unfortunately, that is correct, but you should be able to derive at least a small amount of hope from this."

For a second, Cloud wasn't sure what Gabriel was trying to say. Then the realization hit him, and he did indeed find a bit of hope in it. "He may be really powerful, but this proves that he has limits. We can beat him."

Gabriel nodded. "Yes."

"Good to know," Cloud said. "But anyway – you said you got a long-range helicopter? How'd you justify that to whoever's in charge of requisitions for you?"

"I did not need to justify it to anyone," Gabriel replied, "because the person in charge of requisitions is dead, and his replacement has not taken up all of his official duties. For the moment, a lower-ranking uplifted, one of those we did not have accompany us in our war, is in charge, and no lesser uplifted would refuse the Second Angel a helicopter."

It took Cloud a second, but then his eyes flashed with recognition. "Uriel," he said. "And his replacement's Yuffie."

The bitterness in Cloud's voice made Gabriel cock his head questioningly. "Yuffie Kisaragi was a friend of yours?"

"One of the best people I've ever known, and she gave up everything important to her for a shot at immortality," Cloud said. "Raphael told me yesterday. I still have trouble believing it, but it makes sense."

"Yes, Yuffie Kisaragi was the traitor and mole within your organization," Gabriel said clinically. "I have never met her, myself, but I have seen her profile. Like you, I find her desertion of her friends and allies difficult to comprehend. Why do humans think being uplifted is such a wonderful thing, Cloud Strife?"

Cloud hesitated. How could he explain the fear of death to somebody who had never known mortality? He was sure Red XIII or Vincent could, but he didn't know if he had the words. His thoughts drifted back to his _kànderén_ training, Yuffie telling him how humans sought memetic immortality through their descendants because they were afraid of being forgotten. That made a certain amount of sense, but as she'd said, that wasn't why he feared death. He feared it because he was afraid he would die without having been forgiven – for what and by whom didn't matter.

Finally, he said, "If you died right now, would anyone miss you?"

Gabriel's eyes twitched; Cloud instinctively knew the movement was the closest to a blink of surprise the young man could muster. "What do you mean, miss me?"

"Would anyone be sad that you died? Would anyone say, 'If I had known Gabriel was going to die, I would've done this differently and been nicer to him, or tried to make things right between us?'"

The Second Angel considered this. "Michael would be saddened by my loss," he said slowly, "but I believe it would be because my loss would represent a setback of more than a decade to the cause of the Immaculate Swords, and not because I – the person I am that is me – would be no more. Beyond him, I can think of nobody that would be bereaved or upset."

"That's what a lot of people are afraid of," Cloud said. "They want to be remembered, and they're afraid of being forgotten once they're gone. They'll do crazy things to be remembered. If they think nobody will care, they might think becoming immortal, even at such a high price, is a good thing."

"Uriel told me people fear death because they fear the unknown, and death is the ultimate unknown. After death, the life-essence and soul return to the Lifestream, where it is used to make new life, but what is that life? Is it in a form recognizable as such? He once asked me if I was frightened by the prospect of dying and returning to life as a beetle or a tree."

"And?"

Gabriel shrugged jerkily. "I do not know. Is being a beetle or a tree so bad? It would be more peaceful than this life, and I would not have the intelligence to be distraught if I were killed again."

In spite of the gravity of the situation, Cloud laughed. "I guess you wouldn't at that."

For another long moment Gabriel stood thinking, the gears in his head obviously turning, but then he shook it off and was all business again. "At any rate, we have gone off on a tangent. You must take this helicopter and escape to Wutai, but it cannot be known that I had anything to do with it. Officially, I requisitioned the helicopter so I might form an aerial scouting force of Losts. Your escape will be an unfortunate coincidence. Therefore, I cannot tell you where it is."

Cloud grimaced. "I guess I understand. We don't want Michael and Raphael realizing you're not on their side until the last possible minute."

Gabriel responded with a nod. "And speaking of the whore –" at the mention of Raphael, the right side of his mouth curled up in distaste while the left side stayed a flat line – "you will have to get past her. You must genuinely escape from her, or it will seem too easy. I advise you to let her push you past the limits of your ability to endure your resentment for her just before your escape. She will recognize this emotional response and therefore believe you acted on impulse and found the helicopter by chance."

"That'll be the easy part," Cloud said with a small smile that Gabriel did not return. He hesitated, unsure what to say next, before extending his hand to the Second Angel.

Gabriel looked at it curiously, obviously having no idea what to do. "Is there something wrong with your hand?"

"Shake it with yours," Cloud replied. "This is one way people make deals and say hello and goodbye. You've never heard of a handshake before?"

"Physical contact is kept to an absolute minimum in the environment I am from," Gabriel said. "I suppose it is another one of those things I never learned to do." Slowly, but with quickly mounting confidence, Gabriel extended his own hand and firmly grasped Cloud's.

The blonde gave the young man a steady shake. "Here's to good luck."

"Good luck," Gabriel repeated. "To us both. I will see you at Wutai… assuming you escape."

Without another word, the Second Angel turned on his heel and exited the building, leaving Cloud alone. The morning silence was punctuated only by the occasional scream of a Seeder as it repopulated the Immaculate Swords' army. Those sounds had jolted Cloud awake more than once during the night.

He curled up in the most comfortable corner of the house, next to where he had leaned his sword against a wall. An hour or so after sunrise, Raphael usually brought him food and merrily began the day's tortures. As he dropped back off to sleep, Cloud knew he did not have long to wait.

* * *

"Wake up, darling. Today I have something special in mind for you."

Cloud came instantly awake as a wave of revulsion swept through him at the sound of Raphael's voice. After only a few days of dealing with her, it was now an instinctual response whenever she said anything. Deep down, Cloud knew she fostered this reaction purposefully, as any emotional response was equal in her eyes and revulsion tasted as sweet to her as love. Still, he couldn't help himself, and he knew why Gabriel's only indulgence in obscenity was to call Raphael a whore.

He sat up, brushing the dust off of his tattered and smudged clothing. Raphael had made him wash himself off yesterday, but his clothes were still dirty from days of sleeping on the ground. It made Cloud angry to think of how he had to look right now – disheveled, tired, defeated. He tried to ignore that and focus on Raphael.

Unfortunately, focusing on Raphael only made it clear what her definition of "special" was.

Instead of her normal jumpsuit, the Third Angel wore a matching white bra and panties. Both items of clothing were decorated with lace and of a cut sheer enough to suggest their purpose was form over function. Her only other item of clothing was a slip made of white, shimmering, semitransparent cloth that did nothing to preserve her modesty; it hung by straps from her shoulders down to just below her hips. Her dark skin contrasted strikingly with the white of her garments, and her purple eyes flashed mischievously as she looked at Cloud.

"I found these in one of the more intact homes," Raphael said, doing a twirl in front of him. "I had to fill out my figure a little bit to fit them properly, but that wasn't too hard, for obvious reasons." It was true – her breasts seemed fuller and her hips wider than before. Cloud felt the revulsion return in force. "What do you think?"

"What are you planning to do?" Cloud asked, ignoring her question. He knew the answer well enough, but he was playing for time – he had to nurture the revulsion inside him, feed his anger, summon up every emotion he could for when he made his break. He thought about how this woman – no, this _girl_ – had psychologically tortured him, physically abused him, denigrated and violated his memories of Tifa, talked callously of his friends dying… His emotions hit a fever pitch and he held them there, willing himself to hate Raphael as much as he could consciously loathe another being.

She obviously sensed his emotions, because she sauntered closer, swinging her hips in a way that he guessed was supposed to be attractive. "I think you know," she said. "I've slept with men before, but none of them felt things as deeply or as powerfully as you do. I want to see what kind of difference that makes."

Cloud swallowed and kept his anger at a fever pitch as Raphael lowered herself into his lap, straddling him. She took his head in her hands and pressed her mouth against his, forcing open his jaw and pushing her tongue into his mouth. At the same time, she ground her hips against his, riding him. Cloud felt himself respond, an animalistic reaction that redoubled his revulsion. He hated her for doing this to him and he hated himself for enjoying it even in the slightest.

Raphael obviously felt his emotions spike, because she pressed herself against him harder, disengaging from his mouth long enough to murmur, "That's it, Cloud. Get angry at me. Hate me. Like I told you before, it's all the same. It's all ecstasy to me." She pulled her head away from his for a second and removed a hand from his back to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

In that second, Cloud seized his opening. As he felt the icy fingers of Raphael's _vicarius_ skittering madly in his head, feeding off of his emotions and transmitting them to her so she might derive some twisted pleasure from them, he struck in her moment of carelessness and buried his fist, blazing with spirit energy, in her solar plexus.

The force of the blow lifted her off of him, sending her crashing into the ceiling eight feet above. Knowing time was of the essence, Cloud leaped to his feet, grabbed the First Tsurugi, detached one of the shortswords from the main blade to serve as an off-hand weapon, and dashed out the door of the building.

Raphael collapsed to the ground, clutching at her chest and moaning. Between her _vicarius_ and her uplifted body, the attack should not have fazed her for more than an instant, but Cloud had taken advantage of the weakness he had seen in his first day here in New Nibelheim. Raphael had described her empathic vampirism as ecstasy more than once, and it had not been a great leap of logic for Cloud to determine that it was a kind of drug, an addiction that she might not even be aware she was a slave to. When she had been riding the crest of his anger over her callousness at the news of Vincent's death, he had seen her stagger and become nauseated when he'd cut off physical contact.

Now, when Cloud had been consciously amplifying all his emotions, running them so high and strong they were overwhelming, being suddenly and violently cut off from them was enough to cause something in Raphael akin to a withdrawal. She rolled around on the floor, clawing at herself, her moans punctuated by short, sharp screams that ripped their way out of her at irregular intervals.

For his part, Cloud knew his plan had worked when she wasn't immediately on top of him, so he kept running.

Even in ruins, New Nibelheim was a big town, and Gabriel's helicopter could be anywhere. Cloud desperately cast his gaze around as he fled, looking at piles of rubble and half-collapsed buildings, wondering where in all of this devastation Gabriel could land a 'copter. He sprinted past Seeders in the throes of birth, as well as quickly maturing Losts that stalked the streets and watched him pass with soulless eyes. These mass-produced Losts seemed to lack the killer predatory instincts of the wild specimens; Cloud was thankful they didn't seem to be interested in giving chase without an order.

Then an inhuman screech tore through the dawn silence. Cloud felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck. The screech repeated itself, but this time it formed words.

" _KILL HIM!_ "

All the Losts threw back their heads and howled, long and loud and terrible, and then took off after Cloud, moving with amazing speed for such malformed beings. Their screams intermingled with the sounds of their loping footfalls as they pursued him, steadily gaining ground.

Cloud leaped into the air, kicked himself into a spin, and fired off Blade Beams in every direction, getting off eight or nine before he landed and kept running. The beams each cut down a Lost and split, killing or injuring one or two more before dissipating, but three Losts replaced every one that fell. They poured out of dark buildings and from beneath mounds of rubble, swarming after Cloud and screaming as they came. On any given bearing, he could see dozens of them rushing at him.

There was no way out of this unless he could get to that helicopter. He had to get up high where he could survey the whole town.

A building nearly a hundred feet high and twenty feet to a side had been blown apart at the base and had fallen parallel to a road branching off from the intersection in front of him. Cloud banked sharply to the right, took three rapid steps, jumped. His boots scraped the side of the toppled building and he began to run along it, feeling gravity pull at him even as his momentum kept him going forward. The Losts beneath him screamed and tried to leap at him, but he fired off more Blade Beams, purposefully letting the force of the projectiles transfer through his blades up into his arms. The attacks' recoil kept forcing him up the side of the building as he ran along it, a good twenty feet off the ground and above the Losts filling the road. The Blade Beams killed the monsters easily, but it was like trying to drain a lake with a pipette; there were hundreds of them, perhaps even thousands.

Cloud switched his gaze from the road to the building he ran along, saw he was nearing the end of it. He unleashed another Blade Beam to give him a little more altitude before kicking off into the air, twisting above the sea of Losts below him. At the apex of his leap, when his head was pointed at the ground and his feet toward the sky, Cloud whirled the main blade of the First Tsurugi around him, channeling spirit energy through the blade and loosing a Finishing Touch. The Blade Beams had been a small kick that pushed him up a foot or two; the edged maelstrom of death he now unleashed was like a massive backlash. Even as it shredded dozens of Losts on the ground below him, it also sent him spiraling fifty feet higher into the air, where he could see everything in the town.

From this new vantage point, Cloud easily spotted the helicopter Gabriel had requisitioned. It sat about a quarter mile away in what had apparently been the main town square, in the shadow of a fifty-foot clock tower that loomed above the desolation all around it. Cloud oriented himself toward the clock tower, knowing it would make an excellent landmark, and began summoning up spirit energy for another Finishing Touch to cushion his fall.

He never hit the ground. A black streak leaped seventy feet into the air to collide with him. Cloud felt the breath leave his lungs in an explosive gasp as the impact sent him hurtling into the side of a two-story building that stood on a side street. He blew right through the weakened concrete wall, hit the floor, made a hole in that as well. He finally landed in a shower of concrete and dust on the ground floor, collapsing into a heap.

Raphael yelled shrilly at him from outside. "I spare you and your friend and keep you safe from everyone who wants to hurt you, and this is how you thank me? Cloud, I'm hurt!"

There was something strange about her voice – something strained in its tone – that put Cloud on guard even as he staggered to his feet, still holding his two swords in iron grips.

"Come on out and I promise I'll make your death quick!"

She sounded angry, but Cloud realized what was wrong. Her voice was like that of someone who had lived in the slums of Midgar all their life claiming they had seen the sky. She wasn't really angry; she was just pretending.

What she had told him the first time he had fought her came back to him. Her uplifting had burned all emotions out of her. Whatever she felt, whatever she pretended at, came solely from what she could feel from others. All the emotions she had been expressing around him had been false, hollow memories of what she had once felt, but it had never been obvious until now. Why?

"Come out where I can see you!"

Cloud stiffened as it came to him. She had said she could only maintain the illusory world in which she'd trapped Red XIII as long as he was in her line of sight. Could that apply to her empathic link as well?

It made sense. This was the first time he'd been out of her field of vision and interacted with her in any meaningful way. Now that she was no longer feeding off of his emotions, she could not draw upon them to accurately simulate her own… which meant her _vicarius_ wouldn't work…

Which meant he could kill her.

The temptation rose in Cloud, almost overpowering in its insistency, but he forced it down. He had no way of attacking her without being able to see her. He would just have to remember this for the future.

"Ready or not!"

The concrete wall behind Cloud collapsed as Raphael hurled herself through it as though it were made of tissue paper. She landed deftly next to him, glared. He immediately felt the crawling fingers in his mind again, and he barely managed to leap over a low, spinning kick she lashed out at him with. He noted she had changed back into her jumpsuit.

She was faster than him and the helicopter was a mile away, but Cloud still had a few tricks up his sleeve.

The ceiling was low. Rather than letting himself land after jumping over her kick, Cloud thrust his swords up through the hole he'd made while he was falling and then swung them down parallel with the ceiling. Steel clanged against concrete; using his swords as anchors, he kicked his legs up, got them through the hole and ground his heels against the floor, then pulled the rest of his body up. He was braced above the hole in the second story's floor on his swords and legs, his body vulnerable to an attack from below. Raphael slid smoothly to a position beneath him, crouched, and leaped.

Even as she did so, Cloud kicked his feet and pushed his swords against the floor, propelling him into a backward somersault. He landed on his feet facing the hole, swords at the ready, out of her line of sight for the moment. As Raphael leaped up through the hole, he sliced down in a double Braver attack. The blows crushed Raphael's skull completely and slammed her back down to the first story of the building before she could get a look at Cloud and reestablish _vicarius._ He heard her cry of pain and knew his strategy was working.

Rather than waiting to see what she would do next, Cloud spun, leaped out of the building through the hole he'd made when Raphael had sent him crashing into it. Losts still swarmed the streets, but they had lost him when he'd been thrown into the building, and they were somewhat dispersed, not putting up a united front.

Cloud hit the ground running. He slung the shortsword in his off-hand in its harness, detached the other shortsword from the main blade of the First Tsurugi, returned the main blade into the harness and removed the first shortsword. Ordinarily he would be able to wield the main blade one-handed with no problem, but he wanted maximum dexterity for this. Pounding along the road, firing off Blade Beams left and right, Cloud estimated it would take him a little less than a minute to get to the helicopter.

He glanced over his shoulder, saw Raphael explode out of the ceiling of the building and leap a hundred feet into the air. He didn't have a minute.

She dissolved into a swirling black mist that snaked through the air toward him much faster than Cloud could run. He felt her _vicarius_ in his mind again. He had been running for perhaps twenty seconds when she recoalesced next to him, easily keeping pace. She lashed out with a punch he just barely managed to block with both shortswords; the impact knocked him off his feet. He went careening off the road straight into a pack of Losts, who fell upon him, screaming.

The group of Losts died as he hit them with a desperate Finishing Touch. The razor-edged tornado sprang up around him and sliced them to bloody ribbons, spraying black fluid everywhere and covering him in it. Not even spending energy to swear, Cloud leaped to his feet, taking off for the helicopter again. He could worry later about whether he'd been infected.

Raphael was suddenly in front of him, launching herself at him in a flying kick. Without even thinking about it, Cloud threw himself onto his back, skidding underneath the attack, then transitioning into a roll that brought him back onto his feet. He was twenty seconds away from the helicopter, and it only now occurred to him that he would need some way to keep Raphael away while he started it up and got into the air.

" _DON'T LET HIM GET AWAY!_ " Raphael screamed again in that inhuman voice. " _THE SQUARE! GO TO THE SQUARE!_ " Losts began to converge from every direction on the square, most of them flooding in from a large thoroughfare to the north. Cloud saw them coming, cursed silently. He looked at the clock tower looming over the square, saw how weak it was at its base.

He heard Raphael coming up behind him again, but he ignored her. Quick as lightning, Cloud returned the two shortswords to his harness, pulled out the main blade of the First Tsurugi, and let fly with a massive Blade Beam that sliced directly through the base of the clock tower. The sound of Raphael's footsteps gaining on him, Cloud changed course to head straight for the tower. He charged at it, slamming his whole weight into it from the south side.

For a moment, nothing happened; then, just as he had anticipated, Raphael leaped at him, trying to crush his skull between her fist and the stone of the tower. Cloud pushed off and away from the tower, narrowly dodging the Third Angel's attack. The force of her blow was enough to tip the destabilized tower, and all fifty stone feet of it toppled into the north thoroughfare, crushing dozens of Losts beneath it and effectively blocking off that road. It missed the helicopter by barely twenty feet.

Cloud swapped out the main blade for the shortswords again, scrambled up the side of the clock tower, took a flying leap from atop its toppled bulk, landed ten feet from the helicopter. The craft's door was open, and Cloud could see the preflight routines had already been run through. It was ready to take off as soon as he got inside and started the engine.

He tossed his shortswords into the cockpit and was about to get in himself when he heard Raphael land behind him. She laughed haughtily, advancing. "Game over, Clo-"

Her sentence was cut off when Cloud whirled, ablaze with spirit energy. He drew the main blade of the First Tsurugi from its harness and hurled it straight through her torso with the force of a cannon. The attack sent Raphael flying, dazed even through her _vicarius_. With a sickening crack, the blade pierced the stone of the clock tower twenty feet away and pinned her fast.

It would only take her a few seconds to dissolve her form and get free of the First Tsurugi, but that was all the time Cloud needed. He threw himself into the cockpit of the helicopter, hit the ignition as he did so, heard the craft roar to life and the rotor go from zero to ten rotations per second in a heartbeat.

Raphael tore herself free from the First Tsurugi just in time to see Cloud launch the helicopter into the sky.

A minute later, when he was sure he was clear of New Nibelheim and there was no pursuit, Cloud allowed himself to slump down in the seat of the 'copter and start taking deep, gasping breaths, his heart hammering. He was covered in Lost fluids and might well be an uplifted before the day was out, but he was still alive for the time being, and he was on his way to Wutai.

Only once did he look back at New Nibelheim, a pang of deep regret shooting through him. He still had his shortswords, but the rest of the First Tsurugi was lodged in the clock tower, lost to him. He felt like he had lost a part of himself, one of his last links to the past and the Gaea he had known.

"Goodbye, old friend," he murmured. "Maybe someday I'll get you back."

He did not want to think about how unlikely that was.


	37. Chapter 37

Looking up at Wutai from the front entrance, Vincent felt they might actually have a chance.

He had not seen the city in decades, and Rufus had been very busy during those long years. A fifty-foot-high metal wall surrounded the entire city in an octagon, and atop it patrolled various members of the army. At each of the eight corners of the wall was mounted a heavy machine gun capable of swiveling three hundred and sixty degrees and depressing to fire at enemies directly in front of the wall. This city would be a tough nut to crack even for the Immaculate Swords.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Rufus asked.

" **To people like us? Yes,"** Vincent replied, eyeing the President of Wutai. He had been shocked to see what Rufus had done to himself to escape old age, and despite his best efforts he had found himself wondering if Yuffie would have taken the same path had she been aware of its existence. **"How thick are those walls?"**

"Four feet," Rufus said. "They're corrugated steel, though, which makes them exceptionally strong and difficult to damage through conventional means."

" **Our enemies don't use conventional means."**

"Fair enough. You should still find this city much easier to defend than that rat-trap you lost to the Immaculate Swords."

Vincent said nothing, merely proceeding to the front gate of Wutai. It was true – this wall and the mounted weaponry would make things much easier, but he knew the Immaculate Swords would come on much stronger this time. Michael would not underestimate the Protectorate again. He would come forth himself.

"We should start making plans," Reeve said from the other side of Rufus. "If we can't defend the city, we'll need to evacuate everyone…"

"To where?" Rufus asked. "Like you said, Reeve, if we fail here, there won't be enough of the human race left to make a difference. We have to make a stand." He brushed a grey hair out of his burning blue eyes as he approached the gate. "This is President Shin-Ra!" he bellowed. "Open up!"

Rather than swinging inward or out, the gate began to grind slowly down into a deep trench in the ground. Vincent felt his mouth twitch into a grimace of grudging approval; the gate would be sturdier if it was one solid mass of steel and did not have a seam down the center for the enemy to exploit. As it disappeared into the ground, he and Reeve got their first look at Wutai… and the four black-suited figures standing in front of it.

The city no longer even remotely resembled the Wutai Vincent had once known. It was another Midgar, with towering metal buildings and narrow streets. There was no trace of greenery or water in sight. Many of the buildings had the design motif of a pagoda, with multiple tiers separated by eaves, but the overall picture was one of deeply entrenched urbanity.

The Turks were just as different from their past selves as the city. All of their eyes glowed blue with mako, and their skin was pale and grey, spiderwebbed with luminescent veins.

Reno's shock of red hair was almost entirely grey, with only a streak of crimson hanging on desperately. It snaked from his forehead above his right eye back over his head and terminated somewhere in the silver mass of his ponytail. His distinctive facial markings remained unaffected by the constant mako treatments, standing out on his face like a pair of bloody gashes.

Rude still wore his sunglasses, but the burning of his eyes were visible even through the shaded lenses. His goatee was silver instead of grey; Vincent attributed this to facial hair commonly being lighter in hue. Of all the Turks, he had changed the least; he was still bald.

Tseng's long hair was pulled back into a ponytail and had also gone slate grey. The mark on his forehead was still dark. He now sported a goatee like Rude's, which, like his colleague's, was silver.

Elena, in stark contrast to her colleagues, still had her blonde hair, but Vincent could tell it was a dye job and not natural. She had not extended her cosmetic efforts to include her face; the blush, lipstick, eye shadow, and other affectations Vincent had been so used to seeing her wear were conspicuously absent.

"Welcome back, Boss," Reno called. He looked at Reeve, then Vincent. "You're hangin' with a weird crowd these days, y'know."

" **Good to see you too,"** Vincent said. **"What's the situation?"**

The Turks looked at him, seeming somewhat annoyed at his presumption, but a nod from Rufus quieted their misgivings. "We've drawn up the entire eligible populace into a standing army and equipped them from our stockpiles," Tseng said. His voice had changed over the years, becoming more gravelly and hoarse. "They're about two thousand strong. In addition, some ineligible citizens volunteered. They number around three hundred."

Reeve frowned. "A city of this size and the eligible citizens number only two thousand?"

"The total population of Wutai is only about nine thousand people," Rufus explained. "By eligible populace, we mean men ages seventeen to thirty-five. Most men in Wutai are either younger or older than that and thus are exempt from forced recruitment – ineligible. We have to rely on volunteers from the ineligibles, and as you can tell, not many of them feel like putting their lives on the line."

"We're talking about the extinction of the human race!" Reeve protested.

"I run this city based on the idea of quiet peace, Reeve. Most of the people here either have bad memories of the immediate post-Fall days and never want to see a gun again or are sniveling society types and office drones that couldn't hit the broad side of a barn – the perfect populace to maintain control over. No masses of fiery rebels to get upset about the administration."

" **That also means they're a whole lot of sitting ducks when the cards are down,"** Vincent growled.

Rufus did not contest this statement. "We're lucky we got the twenty-three-hundred we did. Continue, Tseng."

The head of the Turks nodded. "We've rolled out everything we have – automatic weapons, explosives, even a very old pre-Fall artillery cannon. It might not even work at this point, but it can't hurt to give it a try. The plan is to slaughter the enemy army from atop the wall as they swarm us; if and when they start climbing or getting through the gate, we get our people off the wall and reroute the city's electrical grid into it."

Vincent raised a bushy white eyebrow. **"A fifty-foot high electrical fence made of corrugated steel."**

"It's a contingency plan we've developed over the years," Rufus said. "It should be an interesting variable to throw into the mix at a crucial moment." He gestured to the city. "Are you ready? Wutai doesn't get much tourism – at all – so there aren't any hotels or hostels, but all our citizens have generously agreed to quarter your troops and refugees in their homes for the time being. Of course, all of you will be staying with me."

"I somehow doubt your people were feeling that magnanimous," Reeve remarked dryly.

Reno grinned. "They took a little persuadin', but we're very good at appealing to the humanity of our fellow men."

Beside him, Rude shifted slightly. "He threatened people," he clarified.

"Thank you, Rude, for enlightening us," Rufus said. "Shall we go in?"

* * *

In the back of the helicopter, Cloud had found several things: a survival kit with rations and water as well as various small toiletries, the mastered Fire Materia the Immaculate Swords had confiscated from him, and a note from Gabriel. Picking the paper up, Cloud could not help but smile; it was evident that Gabriel had been taught handwriting through flash-learning and had never really needed to use it. His letters were awkwardly formed and shaky. Even the Second Angel had weaknesses, apparently.

I hope this note finds you well, it went. If you are reading this, I assume you have escaped and are on your way to Wutai. Here is a little food and water so you can keep up your strength; the 'copter is fast, but will take the better part of a day to cross the ocean to the Western Continent. I also return to you your Fire Materia. If you got any Lost blood on your clothing or skin, you should not worry too much; the new breed has been rendered several hundred percent less contagious than the wild variety for purposes of population control. However, if any entered cuts or other lacerations, cauterize the wound thoroughly just to be sure. The disease is designed to gestate inside the dermal layer for perhaps five to seven minutes before moving on into the bloodstream; that is your grace period. I will see you at

Cloud eyed the quickly-drying Lost blood all over him. He had sustained several cuts and scrapes from being thrown through walls by Raphael, but though the black spatters came close they did not actually touch any of them. Vincent's injunction to burn any and all skin exposed to the disease resounded in his mind, making him shudder at the prospect. He seemed to have been fortunate enough to escape that, however.

Fatigue gripped him. He swiveled his seat back around to the control panel and rubbed at his eyes. As he did so, he felt a sharp pain below his right eye, and when he pulled his hand away from his face it had both black and red blood on it.

Cloud felt his stomach turn upside down. He whirled the chair around, rummaged through the survival kit until he found a small mirror. Afraid of what he might find but determined to know, he held up the mirror and inspected his face in it.

He looked disheveled and beaten, with a large purple bruise on his left cheek. What was more alarming, however, was a large, fresh gash. It started underneath his right eye and curled down his jaw, ending about halfway to his chin. It was covered in Lost blood.

Panic immediately began to set in, but Cloud choked it down and forced himself to be rational. It had only been two minutes, maybe three, since he'd taken off from New Nibelheim, and he'd gotten covered in Lost blood maybe thirty seconds before that. Gabriel's note said five to seven minutes, so if he treated this right now he would probably be okay.

But then… the skin on his face was delicate, not thick like that of his arms or legs. Did that affect his grace period? Could he be infected already? Cloud pushed those thoughts out of his mind and readied the Fire Materia, generating a low flame in his palm and bringing it up to white-hot intensity. He held the mirror in his other hand.

He had known pain more terrible than anyone should ever be forced to experience, but this still hurt him to even think about. He had no Restore Materia on him; whatever the cauterization did to his face, he would most likely be stuck with it.

For a little more than three seconds, Cloud sat stock-still, the flame in one hand, the mirror in the other. He was gripped with equally powerful and contrasting forces of urgency and hesitation. The need to keep himself from being infected was overwhelming, but so was the basic human instinct to avoid forever scarring his face.

Finally, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath. He stared into the mirror, steeling himself, and focused the flame into a sharp point as he brought it up to his face.

* * *

Rufus, unsurprisingly, inhabited the mansion once lived in by Godo. The old Wutainese leader had passed away shortly after the Fall, leaving everything to Yuffie. When she had elected to stay with Reeve and try to keep the failing WRO together, she had handed over temporary control of the city to Rufus, in order to keep him on their side and to make sure her homeland did not go unprotected.

The mansion had changed very little since Rufus had moved in so many years ago. There was still the indoor pond with koi, some of which had been originally owned by Godo, and the many decorative wall-hangings and secret passageways. Rufus had modernized the building, putting in computer terminals, a television, and other such amenities, but the décor stayed essentially the same.

"Do you drink?" Rufus asked his guests.

They had spent the day touring the city, and now he, Vincent, Reeve, Red XIII, Denzel, and Marlene were all in the mansion's living room, seated on cushions or standing depending upon their preference.

"Not for a long time," Reeve replied.

" **Alcohol does not affect me."**

"I have never understood the point of slowly killing one's brain for enjoyment," Red XIII said.

"It doesn't really do anything to me, either," Denzel volunteered.

All eyes swiveled to Marlene, who shrugged. "I'll take something just so you don't feel lonely, Rufus."

"Wonderful," the man said, removing a bottle of brandy from a cabinet in a corner of the room. "It's been a while since I had the opportunity to drink with such a lovely young woman."

"You're full of shit," Marlene sighed, but her eyes betrayed her pleasure at the remark.

Rufus shrugged easily and poured both of them a glass. He sat on a cushion across from her and held up his glass. "To the fallen and our future," he intoned. Marlene clinked her own glass against his and they sipped at the liquor.

" **And what exactly does that future entail?"** Vincent asked. **"The Protectorate has been all but destroyed, the Central Continent is essentially lost, and you seem more than happy to sit here behind your walls and watch the world burn. Only now that the threat is on your doorstep are you doing anything."**

Reeve made a warning sound in his throat, but Rufus nodded. "You make a good point," he said. "Wutai has always been famous for its isolationism, something I wanted to foster in order to increase my control over the city. A place that is entirely its own, with no new ideas or thoughts coming in from the outside, is much easier to regulate than something like your Protectorate. That's why we've done so well for ourselves while all of you were out living in the abandoned buildings of yesterday."

" **So you admit we won't be able to count on your help for the restoration of the world,"** Vincent said, his eyes flashing.

His friends exchanged glances; Vincent was being unusually aggressive and outspoken. Was this Galian coming to the surface again?

Rufus gave Vincent a thin smile. "Do you want to see something, Vincent?"

" **What?"**

The President of Wutai got to his feet, still holding his brandy. "Follow me, all of you," he said. "I have something to show you."

The party trailed after Rufus as he led them through the halls of the mansion to a small storage closet in the back of the building. He reached up past a shelf and pushed a small button set into the wall, almost undetectable against the wood paneling of the closet.

The floor in front of him slid smoothly open to reveal a ladder leading down into blackness. Rufus began to climb down, keeping a steady grip on his brandy. They heard him touch down about five seconds later; Denzel and Red XIII sprang down without needing to use the ladder. Marlene stepped forward to begin climbing down, then stopped and handed Vincent her drink. "I need both hands," he said. "I'm not as spry as Mr. Glow-In-The-Dark."

He nodded and watched her climb down, then leapt down after her and landed lightly, being careful not to upset her drink. He handed it back to her, and they found themselves standing in front of a large, hermetically sealed metal door.

" **Reminds me of Deepground."**

"I assure you," Rufus said, keying in an access code at a keypad next to the door, "that it is nothing so dubious."

The seals on the door popped with a hiss. It slid smoothly open, revealing nothing but blackness. Lights came on a moment later, a row of them along the ceiling of the chamber beyond that stretched past the party's ability to see.

It was a massive reservoir, carved out of the rock of the earth. Moisture assailed all of them as they stepped inside, onto the rocky shore before the edge of the enormous underground lake.

"Rufus, this is incredible," Reeve said. "Is this your water supply?"

"We get water the same way you do – wind traps, moisture collectors, and so on. The difference is that we hoard it and dole it out in exceedingly precise portions. We know exactly what a man needs to drink daily in order to maintain body weight; we give the citizens that and no more, and we keep the surplus and put it down here. This is decades' worth of hoarding." His eyes, which were even brighter in the dimness, glittered. "Very soon, assuming we survive the coming conflict, we'll have enough to start the global climate change."

"You're not serious," Marlene breathed.

Red XIII stepped forward, sniffed the water. "He is entirely serious," he said. "I cannot even estimate how much water is here, but it is obviously enough to fill a small ocean, if not more. If used judiciously and intelligently – to nourish plant life that will trap the dunes and make them fertile, to induce moisture fronts and storm patterns, and so forth – it could return the Planet much of the way back to how it was before the Fall."

"Exactly," Rufus said. "This is the difference between you and me, Reeve. You just had to help every poor soul you saw. You couldn't bear to give up even more of the Planet to the Losts, to the freaks, so you stretched yourself too thin and made yourself impotent. I closed Wutai off, maintained a controlled population, and started planning in the long term." He gestured out at the mind-bogglingly huge reservoir laid out in front of them as he took another sip of brandy. "Just blowing this out of the earth took five years of constant demolition and clearing. There's a massive mound of rubble two miles out of Wutai that nobody talks about because I say nobody should. Now I'm poised to save the Planet, and you're a refugee here in my little kingdom."

"Ironic," Reeve murmured.

" **How do you benefit?"** Vincent asked. **"What makes you so eager to be the Planet's savior?"**

"Shin-Ra nearly destroyed the Planet once," Rufus replied. "People still think of me as the son of a tyrant, not my own person… and gathering this water has taken forty years of fostering that image, of cultivating tyranny and fear in the name of peace and a greater good. But it's finally time for me to break free of my father. I'll go down in history as the man with the vision, the plan, the one who saved the Planet." He drained his glass. "That will be my legacy. That will be what people remember when they think of Rufus Shin-Ra."

Nobody said anything for a moment. Marlene finally laughed. "Rufus, you've gotten altruistic in your old age."

Rufus snorted. "Call it altruism instead of selfishness if you like. That's why I'm doing this." He looked Vincent dead in the eye, not seeming to even register the demonic beast looming over him. "If you don't want to believe me, you don't have to."

Vincent seemed to shrink a little. **"I apologize, Rufus,"** he said. **"I've been… angry… and irrational since I became stuck this way. The change has been difficult."**

"I sympathize," Rufus told him, and Vincent could not help but believe him.

They stood in silence for a minute, staring out over the vast expanse of Rufus's reservoir. Finally, the sound of somebody landing behind them echoed out into the cavern.

Reno strode forward to the edge of the lake. "Showin' them the reservoir, Boss?"

"I'm making a point," Rufus replied.

"Cool, cool," Reno said. "Listen, somebody just got here that I think all of you might be interested in seeing."

* * *

Marlene threw open the door to Cloud's hospital room and stopped in her tracks, arrested by shock and relief in equal measure. The blonde lay recuperating in a bed, hooked up to an IV. He looked battered and tired, but what made her heart leap into her throat was the horrible, blistered scar curling beneath his right eye and extending down his jaw. The skin was charred and burned, bright red patches showing through crisped black tissue, and small yellow boils had risen up along the edges of the wound.

"Cloud!" she cried, forcing herself to move and pulling him into an embrace. He laughed and winced simultaneously, wrapping his arms around her. "We thought you were gone!"

"I managed to make it out mostly in one piece," he replied, moving his mouth as little as possible. "I took a nasty hit to the face, though, and then I got Lost blood on it."

Red XIII came through the door next. He walked up to Cloud's bedside, his teeth bared in his version of a grin. "Good to see you're alive," he said, nuzzling the blonde's hand after Marlene disengaged from the hug. "That is by far one of the sloppiest cauterizes I have ever seen."

"You should have been here before the doctors started pumping me full of Cure magic and antibiotics," Cloud said. "They're waiting for the infection to go down some more before hitting me with more Cure; they claim it'll heal better that way. I don't really understand it that well. They say I'll always have a scar, but it shouldn't be that bad."

"I take it you managed to avoid infection."

Cloud looked uncomfortable, but he nodded. "I guess so. I don't feel any different, and looking at myself in the mirror with _kànderén_ doesn't reveal anything. Do you…?"

"I detect no traces of the disease," Red XIII assured him. "I think you are free and clear, Cloud." He paused for a moment. "There are two people you need to see. Just be very calm and let us explain everything."

This confused him, but Cloud nodded. He trusted Red XIII, after all. The beast looked over his shoulder and called, "Bring them in, Reeve."

Reeve walked through the door with a smile and nod for Cloud, followed by two people Cloud never thought he would see again in his life.

Vincent carefully slipped Galian's massive frame through the door. Behind him came Denzel, still dressed in the jumpsuit of the Immaculate Swords. Cloud stared disbelievingly at them, trying to remain calm as Red XIII had said. It still burst out of him – "You're both dead!"

A grin appeared on Vincent's transformed face. **"Not entirely. I managed to come back from the Lifestream by sending Galian in my place; however, Michael destroyed** _ **my**_ **body, so I was stuck with this one."**

"You mean…"

"I will never be human – in some senses of the word – again. But I'm still alive, and I'm very glad to see you, Cloud."

Cloud nodded, still bewildered, and looked at Denzel. "What about you?" he asked. "I was told you'd disappeared, that you were probably dead. Where have you been?"

" **Let me introduce you,"** Vincent broke in, **"to Selaphiel, the Fifth Angel."**

Cloud stared, dumbstruck. He finally found the presence of mind to ask, quietly, "Really?"

Denzel nodded, shame coloring his face. "Yes. It's a long story."

" **He fought for us at the Battle of New Nibelheim, and he's on our side,"** Vincent said. After a moment's hesitation, he added, **"I think you can trust him."**

Cloud kept looking at Denzel, a deeply penetrating, measuring stare that seemed to strip the man of all pretensions and lay him open for examination. Finally, a crack appeared in the blonde's inscrutable veneer, and he gave a very small smile. "I don't know what you did, Denzel, or why you did it… but if Vincent thinks I can trust you, and you're helping us, I think what I don't know won't hurt me."

Obviously relieved, Denzel blew out a very long breath. "Thanks, Cloud."

"What happened?" Marlene finally asked, obviously eager to know what had gone on. "Where'd they keep you? How'd you escape?"

"I'll start at the beginning," Cloud said, holding up a hand to stem her questions. "But before I do, all of you should know something." His expression hardened and his mouth drew into a firm line. "Michael's going back to New Nibelheim to inspect the army and march on Wutai. I don't know how they're going to do it, or how long we have, but he knows we're here, and he's coming for us."

Cloud paused, looked at his friends gathered in the room. Vincent stood silently in a corner, eyes burning with Galian's power. Reeve stayed close to Marlene, a hand on her shoulder, and she sat at the side of Cloud's bed, a worried expression on her face. Red XIII sat next to her, comfortable on his haunches. Denzel seemed the most distant from all of them, but he wore a look of determination.

"There aren't any second chances this time, guys," Cloud continued. "Michael's going to attack with a vengeance.

"If we lose here… we all die."


	38. Chapter 38

The right side of Cloud's face burned. He could still smell the charred flesh, feel the flame cutting into his muscle and bone. The worst part had been forcing himself to keep his gaze on the mirror. There had been no room for mistakes, and it had been the only way he could keep himself from becoming infected.

Outside the hospital, the night was cool, but he felt as though he were burning alive. The rational part of his mind told him he had a fever, that the infection from the horrible burn was spreading and the antibiotics weren't working. Cloud wanted to lift his hand and press the call button, but it seemed like so much effort, and his hand seemed so far away.

The door to his room silently swung open, casting light from the hallway into his dark room. He blearily fixed his gaze on the figure silhouetted in it – a woman in a nurse's uniform. His head swam. Why was she here? He hadn't been able to press the button.

She approached the bed with a fluid grace that somehow unnerved him. Where had he seen that gait before? It seemed so familiar…

"How are you feeling?" she asked him.

Cloud licked his cracked lips and muttered, "Terrible. Fever… must be a hundred. My face…"

"Well, it would make sense for you to have a very high fever, considering you haven't been on any antibiotics for the past eight hours," the nurse observed cheerily.

Warning bells went off in his head, but in his muddled state Cloud couldn't say why. "What? But… why not? The IV…"

"I let myself in after your friends left," the nurse went on, "and switched out your antibiotics with a bag of saline. Funny how they look exactly the same, huh?"

"Who…?"

The woman leaned close to Cloud, wearing a smile on features he did not recognize. Slowly her face shifted, changed; her skin darkened, her hair became blonde, and her eyes turned a deep purple.

Adrenalin shot through Cloud's body and he started to leap off the bed, but Raphael's hand snaked out, grabbed him by the throat, and slammed him back down against the mattress. "It's funny where you can go when you can change your appearance at will," she said matter-of-factly. "The woman whose identity I've borrowed was a bad choice, though. I had to break nearly all her bones to get her to fit into that little waste chute."

Cloud's vision swam. He couldn't breathe for the iron fingers tightening around his throat, could barely speak. "You… bitch," he managed to get out.

"Poor Cloud," Raphael sighed. "I will miss your emotions, but you ran away and I just can't permit that to happen a second time."

"Must be tough," he said, barely able to form the words, she was throttling him so hard. "Killing a sick man in his bed."

The smile on Raphael's face grew, but it was no longer innocent; it became a feral grin, all her teeth on display, and her eyes shone with glee. "But you have me all wrong, Cloud," she said. "I'm not going to kill you." With her free hand, she reached into the large pocket on the hip of the nurse's uniform she wore. Even before she withdrew the syringe completely, the utter blackness visible through the glass casing told Cloud exactly what she was planning to do. "I'm going to set you free."

Knowing he was going to black out in less than ten seconds if she kept strangling him, Cloud struck out in a desperate attack, whirling his legs around in a pair of scissoring kicks that thudded into the side of Raphael's head. She didn't even notice. In one surgically precise motion, she moved her hand from Cloud's throat to his arm, jabbed the syringe full of Lost blood into a vein, and injected him with all of it.

Cloud felt it ripping through his blood like an all-consuming fire. His vision went dark and he could no longer feel anything except his body twitching and writhing. He could still hear, however; he could hear Raphael telling him how he would feel so much better when he woke up, how everything would be different and they would be together for as long as they wanted.

Then he lost consciousness.

* * *

"Do you know the history of the WEAPONs, Cloud?"

Cloud paused, confused by the question. He and Tifa had been walking through the desert together in silence for what felt like forever, and now she asked him this seemingly out of the blue. "No, I don't," he said. "Do you?"

Tifa nodded. "A very long time ago, the Calamity came to this Planet. The Planet sensed that it was in terrible danger and spontaneously created the WEAPONs to protect it. However, the Cetra managed to seal JENOVA away, removing the threat for the time being, meaning the WEAPONs had no reason to exist. Rather than destroy what it had created, the Planet decided to preserve them in crystallized Mako at the roof of the world for when the next crisis threatened."

"Huh," Cloud said. "That's interesting. What brought the WEAPONs to mind, Tifa?"

She looked at him long and hard, her wine-colored eyes seeming to measure him. "We destroyed them, Cloud."

"Well, we had to," Cloud replied. "You know that as well as I do. When the Planet released the WEAPONs in response to Meteor, Sephiroth had a barrier up that kept them from being able to detect him. So they started attacking anything else they saw as a threat, which included pretty much every Mako-using town on the face of the world. We couldn't let innocent people die."

"That's true," Tifa acknowledged. "We did what we had to at the time, and there's nothing wrong with that." She stopped walking as they reached the crest of a dune, motioning for Cloud to sit down with her. He obeyed, carefully settling on the hot sand. A small voice inside his mind said that something was wrong here, that Tifa was dead and should not be talking to him, but the rest of him felt as though he belonged here. This was where he needed to be right now, he was sure of it. "Do you remember what Vincent told you about Geostigma?"

"He said our bodies have a current in them like the Lifestream. It's what fights off alien matter that gets into the body, and Geostigma was that current hurting us by overreacting to JENOVA."

"That current isn't infinite, but if it's depleted it slowly regenerates over time," Tifa said. "Just like the Lifestream. When your body fights off disease, you're weakened by its passage but eventually you get better, forming new and better ways to fight illness. That's what the Planet was doing with the WEAPONs. They were the Planet's immune system."

"We destroyed the Planet's immune system?" Cloud asked, feeling somewhat horrified. It had been necessary, yes, but that didn't mean it was a perfect solution.

"Yes," Tifa replied. "So the Planet analyzed why the WEAPONs had failed, why JENOVA had been able to hurt it so much and cause such horrible destruction. It realized that JENOVA's insidious nature, the fact that it was so small, made it possible for the Calamity to do things the WEAPONs could not. JENOVA had intelligence, the ability to make decisions, could use subtlety just as well as brute force. The WEAPONs were no smarter than the cells inside your body that are designed to fight off disease, Cloud. All they could do was detect a threat and try to eliminate it. They couldn't discriminate."

"How do you know all this?" Cloud asked. "Where are we? What's –"

Tifa smiled at him, a sad and patient expression. She put a finger to his lips, and his questions faded. He knew this could not be real, but at the same time he could feel her calloused skin, he recognized that smile of hers that she would so often give him when he was being difficult or obtuse.

"This is not a lie," she said to him.

Instinctively, at the core of his being, Cloud knew it was true. This was not real, but it was still true; it was not some fantasy pushed into his mind by a malevolent outside force. "I believe you," he whispered.

She nodded. "Your body learns every time it fights a new disease, Cloud, and the Planet works the same way. When it saw that the old WEAPONs didn't work, it decided to make some new ones."

"What? How?"

"It wanted WEAPONs that had the power to defend it but could think for themselves, could use reason and make decisions. It wanted WEAPONs that would feel every death they caused, WEAPONs that wouldn't go berserk but would know when to act and when to wait. Most importantly, it couldn't muster the strength to make these WEAPONs themselves, only empower them to act in its name. So it found three receptacles it could use, and it gathered them together in one place, just like it had gathered all the other WEAPONs together at the North Crater."

"So if we find and release these new WEAPONs, they'll help us against the Immaculate Swords?" Cloud asked. There seemed to finally be a light at the end of the tunnel. Defeating Ruby and Emerald and Ultimate had been terribly difficult; if they had the power of those creatures on their side, paired with the capacity for decision-making and the ability to see who the real threat was, they might actually stand a chance.

Tifa shook her head. "Two of them are bound to wait, asleep, until the Calamity returns or something of similar power threatens the Planet. It may not return at all, or it may be a thousand years, or it may be tomorrow; but if JENOVA or its ilk do come back, they will be ready."

"We can still get the third one to help," Cloud exclaimed. "Where is it, Tifa? We only have a little while before the Immaculate Swords show up. If we –"

He was interrupted when Tifa moved close to him, pressing her lips against his for a brief moment before withdrawing. "You're so dense sometimes, Cloud," she said, her smile growing. "Don't you see?"

"See what?"

Tifa sighed. "Ask Vincent how he found you. You'll understand." She stood up, dusted herself off. "I'll see you soon, Cloud."

"You're leaving? Where…" Suddenly the world lurched around him. The sky inverted, the sand beneath him turned to glass, and he couldn't breathe. Tifa seemed to shrink, disappearing into the distance without moving. Cloud reached for her in vain, panic gripping him. "Don't go again," he gasped even as the air turned to green, glowing water that rushed into his lungs. "Don't…"

* * *

And then he woke up.

Cloud's face no longer hurt; his fever had vanished. Confused, he gingerly probed his right cheek, expecting to feel raw and charred flesh, but instead he found only rough scar tissue. It was still late at night, so he stumbled into the bathroom, flipped on a light, and stared at himself in the mirror.

His horrible burn was gone. There was a long, wicked scar curving from beneath his eye down the side of his jaw, but it looked like it had been healed for some time now. Cloud stood there for a moment, utterly confused.

The memory of Raphael throttling him and jabbing a syringe full of Lost blood into his arm abruptly rushed out of the recesses of his bewildered mind. He spun around, looking for any sign of her, but the room was empty save for him. He stared at his arm but could find no traces of any needle. Had it been a dream? Then how could he explain the deep, unassailable feeling that his meeting with Tifa had been true, and why was his burn completely healed?

Cloud moved back toward his bed, thinking to hit the call button and summon a nurse. As he took a step forward he felt his toe hit something lying on the floor. The sound of glass skipping over the linoleum surface was very loud. He crouched, retrieved a syringe from the ground. It was almost entirely empty save for a few drops of Lost blood that had not been injected with the rest.

Without hesitating another moment, Cloud slammed down the call button before rushing back into the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror, summoning up _kànderén_ to see if he had been uplifted. The training seemed to be working perfectly, but he could detect no trace of the disease in him.

A nurse appeared at the door to his room. "You called, Mr. Strife?" she asked. He whirled, stared at her intently with _kànderén_. She wasn't Raphael in disguise or infected at all, that much was certain. Taken aback by the intense scrutiny of his gaze, the woman shrank back a step. "Are you all right?"

"No," Cloud said. "The Third Angel snuck into my room disguised as one of the nurses who worked here and injected me with this syringe full of Lost blood. Sound an alarm, call the police, do _something_ to try to catch her before she causes even more damage."

At the mention of Lost blood, the nurse shrank back even further, her eyes wide with fear. "You're –"

"I'm not infected," Cloud cut her off. "I'm an Inquisitor of the Protectorate and can tell I'm not."

"But if she –"

"I don't understand it either, but if you don't tell people she's inside the city there's no telling what she could do. Hurry!"

Rather than argue the point with him, the nurse turned on her heel and hurried off down the hallway. For his part, Cloud walked over to the closet. Inside were his clothes, his Fire Materia, the First Tsurugi's harness, and the two shortswords he hadn't lost in his fight with Raphael.

He felt better than he had in days, and it was time to get some answers.

* * *

Alarms howled out in the predawn hours. All of Wutai was on alert, the police and the army on the lookout for suspicious persons violating curfew. The report the nurse had given had mentioned something about an Angel attacking Cloud Strife.

That had been more than enough of an excuse to alert his friends, Rufus, and the Turks. All of them were currently rushing to the hospital. Denzel, Marlene, Reeve, Red XIII, Rufus, Reno, Rude, Tseng, and Elena were all crammed into Rufus's private car, a vehicle that was supposed to comfortably seat only six people. Vincent ran on all fours alongside the vehicle, steely muscles rippling beneath his grey-blue fur.

"How long until we get there?" Marlene asked. She sat on Reno's lap in the front passenger seat of the car, much to the Turk's dismay. "Cloud probably needs our help."

"This car wasn't built to accommodate nine people," Rufus replied testily. Red XIII made a growling sound in the back of his throat, and Rufus amended, "Well, eight people and a… Red XIII. I'm going as fast as I can without burning her out."

"Burn her out if you have to!" Reeve snapped from where he was wedged between Rude and Tseng. "Cloud's in trouble!"

"Oh, no," Elena said. "Cloud's not in trouble right now." Everyone looked at her, confused, and she gave them a toothy smile. Her features shifted and reformed themselves into those of a dark-skinned, purple-eyed young woman with identically blonde hair. She smiled, showing straight, white teeth. "All of _you_ are."

Tseng swore. "Where's Elena?"

"Unconscious in her room, of course," Raphael replied. "You mako-enhanced specimens should make interesting study and I don't want to waste any of you. The rest of you, though…"

Whatever she was about to say was drowned out as Rufus slammed his fist down on the car's horn. Raphael, startled, reached out to rip Rufus's hands off of the wheel.

Vincent crashed into the side of the car like a cruise missile. The vehicle was thrown right off its wheels and went tumbling, flipping over several times before skidding to a halt, right side up. Inside, the Turks grabbed Marlene and Reeve, the more fragile passengers, shielding them with their own bodies. Marlene felt Reno slam into the door and heard the window shatter. For his part, when the car came to a halt, Reno looked completely uninjured and unfazed. The mako treatments had obviously done more than make the Turks stop aging.

Raphael was recovering from the unexpected crash when Vincent ripped the door off of her side of the car. He plunged his talons deep into her chest and lifted her out of the vehicle before flinging her into the road like she weighed nothing. She hit hard, the impact making cracks in the asphalt.

"You have a lot of rage in there," she laughed, getting to her feet. Vincent's eyes narrowed as her wounds healed up at an unnatural pace. "Share it with me, Vincent. You seem to have become much less capable of bottling your emotions up inside since going through this change. I like the new you."

" **Well, I don't like you,"** Vincent snarled. **"It's time for you to die, Third Angel or no. I'll annihilate you just like I destroyed Uriel and Alexandra!"**

Raphael raised an eyebrow. "You will, hm? Selaphiel observed that fight, Vincent. He was acting as our scout, seeing as how he can make himself invisible to prying eyes. According to his report, you didn't destroy Alexandra at all. Galian did."

" **That's what I said!"**

"No, you said _you_ destroyed Alexandra. Having a bit of an identity crisis, Vincent? Don't bother denying it, I can feel it all from right here."

" **I –"** Vincent stopped, confusion evident even on his twisted features. He roared and clutched at his head, white flames springing up all along the length of his body.

Raphael made a clucking noise, slowly advancing toward him. "It seems like you're not weathering this new form of yours very well, Vincent." She raised her right arm, shaping her forearm into a writhing mass of JENOVA-disease liquid that ended in a very sharp point. "Here. Let me make things clearer for you."

A dozen bullets ripped into her body. Tseng clutched a pistol in either hand, and Rufus held his sawed-off shotgun almost casually, its twin barrels still smoking. Rude and Reno both held stun prods, the tips of which glowed with energy waiting to be discharged. Next to them, Red XIII crouched low, teeth bared and hackles raised, and Denzel stood in a fighting stance, ready to try to contain Raphael for as long as he could.

"You think you puny bugs can hurt me?" Raphael laughed. "The only one here who might have a chance is Vincent, and he seems a little busy right now." She looked at the ex-Turk, who was on his knees gripping his head so hard it seemed a miracle he didn't hurt himself. "And the only other person who could ever even touch me is currently getting used to being uplifted. I wonder which fallen Angel he'll replace. Maybe he'll even bump me down a notch."

"Cloud," Marlene whispered. "No."

Raphael sneered at her. "Oh, yes, Marlene Wallace. Cloud Strife is no more. Whatever's left of him once the disease gets through uplifting him will be ours. I used a special strain that Michael developed personally. It'll destroy his mind and still keep him sane. He'll be our own special puppet."

"You _bitch,_ " Marlene hissed.

"Call me whatever you want, it won't change the facts. He's _gone._ "

"For a dead guy, I'm feeling strangely fine," Cloud said.

Raphael went completely stiff. She slowly turned her head to look at Cloud, who stood several yards away from her, shortswords drawn. He wore his normal clothing and a determined expression.

"Not possible," she breathed. "I injected you with enough Lost blood to infect a hundred people!"

"I don't understand it either," Cloud replied, "but I'm here, and I'm not infected." He looked at Red XIII. "Right?"

"He is not," Red XIII confirmed. "My _kànderén_ confirms it."

"Then HOW?" Raphael screamed. "HOW IS IT POSSIBLE? Nobody is immune to the disease, NOBODY! You become a Lost, or you become uplifted! There are no in-betweens, no exceptions! NONE!"

"None except me." Cloud began to advance on Raphael, shortswords ready. "You've got two options, Raphael. Fight or run. You might live longer if you take the second one."

She stared at him for a long moment before throwing back her head and giving a horrible, keening cry, a sound of pure hate and anger that echoed for miles and made all of them stumble back, clutching at their ears. In the next instant she was gone, dissolved into a fine black mist that flew away through the air.

Vincent gave a sharp gasp, lurching to his feet. **"She… my mind… I couldn't keep her out. I…"** He rubbed at his eyes, despair clouding his features. **"I don't know if I can fight her. I don't even know how much longer I can stay sane."** He looked down at Cloud, who had sheathed his shortswords and now stood only a few feet away. **"Is it true? Did she inject you with Lost blood?"**

"She did. She also switched out my antibiotics with saline so I'd be feverish and weak when she did it."

"How did you survive?" Rufus demanded, obviously confused for one of the few times in his life.

Cloud shook his head. "I have no idea. I dreamed I was walking in the desert with Tifa, talking, except it wasn't a dream – it was true, even though it wasn't real. Then I woke up, feeling great, and my burn was gone. All that was left was this scar." He turned to Vincent. "Tifa told me to ask you how you found me, Vincent."

" **What? Why?"**

"Please," Cloud said. "It's important."

" **I found you in stasis,"** Vincent replied.

"I know that much, but where was I? Was I alone? I need details, Vincent."

Vincent took a deep breath. **"I found you in a giant underground cavern beneath Deepground. Your pod had been taken there along with two others from Project R's base, and was facing a giant, red Materia that floated off the ground. The other people with you were Genesis Rhapsodos and Weiss the Immaculate, both of whom were in stasis when I arrived. Genesis let himself out and explained that the Materia was the Gift of the Goddess, whatever that means, and that he and Weiss had to stay there and sleep until the Planet was in immense danger."**

Cloud stared at him, struggling to keep his expression neutral. "You're sure."

" **Positive,"** Vincent growled.

"What is it, Cloud?" Marlene asked. "What's wrong?"

"Now it makes sense." Cloud ran a hand down his face, realization flooding him. "In my dream, Tifa kept talking about the WEAPONs, how they were the Planet's immune system. She said the old ones that we destroyed were flawed, so the Planet decided to make new ones, WEAPONs that could think for themselves and operate on a smaller scale than the old ones. The thing was that it didn't have the power to just make them out of nothing, so it took three – what did she say – _receptacles_ , that's it, and gathered them together. She said two needed to wait until JENOVA returned, if ever, but the other one…"

"So you," Rufus said, "are a WEAPON."

Cloud met his cold gaze. "Yes. I am."

"What does that even mean, though?" Reeve demanded. "You're still Cloud, we can all see that. If you're a WEAPON, where's your overwhelming power?"

"I don't know, Reeve. I just know that this must be how I survived Raphael injecting me with all that Lost blood. The Planet couldn't let one of its WEAPONs get corrupted by the enemy, so it intervened and saved me. That also explains why my wounds all healed up."

There was a beeping sound from Rufus's wrist. He held his watch up to his ear, listened, said something short into it. "Well, if you really are a WEAPON, Cloud, you'd better figure out how to harness that power. Spotters aboard the _Deus Ex Machina_ just sighted the entire Lost army incoming. I don't know how they got across the ocean, but at the rate they're going, they'll be here in just under an hour."

Nobody said anything at first. Finally, Reno laughed. "At least we already woke everybody up with the alarm for that crazy bitch," he drawled. "Saves us a little time."

Immediately everyone snapped out of their shock. Rufus started issuing rapid-fire orders to the Tseng, who directed Reno and Rude to carry some of them out before hurrying off to complete the rest himself. Marlene and Denzel exchanged a glance, then both started off toward the city wall, intent on organizing the defenses there.

"You have an hour to figure out how to use whatever advantages being a WEAPON gives you," Rufus said to Cloud, getting back into his somewhat-ruined car. "After that, get to the wall. We'll need all the help we can get." Without waiting for a reply, he gunned the engine and sped off in the direction of the city's command center.

Cloud, Vincent, Reeve, and Red XIII stood in the road, not sure where to go from here. "Vincent," Cloud said slowly. "Do you think maybe this WEAPON is a part of me, like Galian and Chaos and your other demons used to be a part of you? Is there some way I can transform into it?"

Vincent shook his head. **"If it worked like that, you would be aware of it,"** he said. **"Trust me. It would be impossible for you to have missed its presence this entire time. You yourself must be a WEAPON. It's the only explanation."**

"I've never heard of anything like this," Red XIII observed. "Grandfather never spoke of people becoming WEAPONs, nor do any of Cosmo Canyon's histories. I'm afraid I am completely out of my depth."

"Reeve?" Cloud asked.

The ex-President of the WRO stroked his goatee pensively. "You say Tifa came to you in a dream, or vision, and told you this?"

"Yes."

Reeve nodded. "Come with me," he said. "I have an idea."


	39. Chapter 39

"Your end is here!" Michael roared.

Atop Wutai's wall, Cloud, Vincent, Marlene, Denzel, Reeve, Red XIII, Rufus, Reno, Rude, Tseng, and Elena all stood looking down at the army assembled outside. In the predawn light, the Losts looked like a seething, amorphous mass that covered the landscape as far as the eye could see. There had to be six thousand of them at least, more than enough to overwhelm Wutai and raze it to the ground.

At the head of the army were four black-clad figures. Michael looked haughtily up at the distant figures on the wall. Zack Fair's handsome features and blue eyes were jarringly paired with the pupils of a cat and a contemptuous sneer. He held no visible weapons.

Gabriel stood, or rather hunched, at Michael's right hand. His eyes, a much paler blue than the First Angel's, were fixed on Wutai. He never blinked. His pale, gaunt features would occasionally twitch, but he was otherwise expressionless. He did not carry any visible weapons either.

Raphael stood at Michael's left hand. Her purple eyes were riveted on the almost imperceptible figure of Cloud atop the city wall. Slung across her back were the main blade and the rest of the First Tsurugi, the only consolation she'd been able to take from Cloud's escape.

Off to the side, not given a proper position in relation to Michael, was Yuffie – the new Uriel, but nobody in the city thought of her that way, and it was questionable whether her so-called allies did either. Her stormy-grey eyes flicked rapidly about, drinking in the sight of Wutai after so long, but they lingered significantly on a large, blue-grey humanoid with a feral look about it. In either hand she held a smaller, gunmetal-grey version of her old fuuma shuriken. The weapons' blades were curved and wickedly serrated.

These four were the last, greatest threat to humanity's continued existence.

Cloud, of course, knew that Gabriel was not content to be Michael's tool to uplift the world and would revolt as soon as Raphael was dead and Yuffie was… _taken out of the fight,_ he chose to think. For fear of spies or Michael somehow learning of that fact, he had not yet told anyone. It would become evident soon enough.

"At my back are six thousand Losts, bred to usher in the end of the inferior human race!" Michael continued, his voice ringing out across the mile that separated the army from the city. "At my left hand is Raphael, the Third Angel, Cloud Strife's superior in combat! At my right hand is Gabriel, the Second Angel, her better by many degrees of magnitude! What do you think you can do against us? Throw open your gates and surrender humbly!"

The only answer was the report of the ancient artillery cannon Tseng had found and somehow managed to force into working condition. The shell screamed into the sky, arced back toward the ground, and zeroed in with remarkable precision on Michael.

With a snarl, the First Angel batted the shell out of the way with one hand. It went wide to his right, mowing down a dozen Losts before finally detonating.

"If that is your answer, I shall not show you any mercy!" Michael bellowed. "FORWARD!"

The Losts all screamed out in unison, a wall of sound that rocketed forward and broadsided everyone atop Wutai's wall. Still acting as one, they charged, a living tide of claws and teeth and killing intent.

"How the hell," Marlene sighed, "did he get all of them across the ocean so quickly?" She adjusted her grip on the assault rifle Rufus had given her, a determined expression on her face.

"The _Deus Ex Machina_ reported there was a bridge made of solid rock where there hadn't been two days ago," Rufus replied. "If they can perform miracles like that, maybe their names really are fitting."

" **They're no more divine than I am,"** Vincent said. The artillery spoke again, sending a shell crashing into the front lines of the army, killing dozens of Losts. It was a drop out of an ocean. **"We all know what this battle will boil down to, and so does Michael. Between Cloud, Denzel, and myself, we have enough power to kill every single Lost out there with near impunity."**

"And between Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, and Yuffie, they have enough power to destroy the world, to say nothing of Wutai," Red XIII growled. "It will all come down to who survives single combat. The side that keeps their leading units will be victorious."

" **Yuffie,"** Vincent went on, **"is mine. I have to fight her; it's what I owe her at the very least."** He nodded at Cloud. **"You'll take care of Raphael."** To Denzel – **"You're in charge of keeping Gabriel restrained if he tries to interfere. Michael has enough of a twisted sense of honor not to help any of them – he'll sit back and watch."** To Red XIII and Marlene – **"You two will stay here and help Rufus and the Turks hold the wall. If it goes down, fall back to the Pagoda. Do not lead them to Rufus's mansion; the cistern must be kept hidden at all costs."**

"Understood," Marlene said. "You can count on us, Vincent."

A look of deep sadness passed over Vincent's face, a look easily detectable even through his warped features. **"I know I can,"** he murmured. **"I will not say goodbye. But… I will say that it has been an honor."**

He took two steps forward and leapt from the city wall, landing fifty feet away and taking off on all fours toward the army, toward Yuffie.

"He's not plannin' on comin' back," Reno observed. Cloud shot a glare at him, but the Turk shrugged it off effortlessly. "Hey, I just calls 'em like I sees 'em."

"Brilliant observation," Rufus drawled. "Once you've finished enlightening us about things we already know, perhaps you'd care to go tell the men manning the artillery to switch to the incendiary rounds."

"Sure, Boss." Nobody could quite say how, but Reno managed to make even a jog look like an insouciant, slouched swagger. He headed off, leaving the rest of them to stand uncomfortably on the wall, listening to the sound of the artillery and waiting for Cloud to say something too.

The blonde drew in a deep breath. "I'm not going to say goodbye either, but not for the same reasons as Vincent. We'll all see one another again, that much I'm sure of."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Cloud," Red XIII warned him.

"I intend on keeping this one," Cloud replied. He closed his eyes, remembered another promise he'd made a very long time ago under a starry sky to a pretty girl.

_Whatever happens, Tifa… I will make up for not having been there. I_ will.

He opened his eyes. "Let's mosey," he declared.

"Dork," Marlene muttered. Red XIII gave a small, chuffing laugh, shaking his head.

Cloud launched himself into the air, shortswords drawn.

* * *

A boiling engine of sheer destruction, wreathed in white flame, skidded to a halt in front of Yuffie.

The army of Losts gave it a wide berth, focused as they were on Wutai. Several hundred feet away, all three other Angels saw it. Gabriel started to move forward, but Michael twitched a hand in front of the young man's face.

"That contest will go forward without our interference," he said. "Their entire lives have been leading up to this single moment. He has overcome death itself to be here, and she is here because she could not face what he has conquered. Perhaps our new Uriel will triumph, or perhaps she will fall; either way, neither of them will be a threat after this."

He eyed the gauntlet on the beast's left arm, the gauntlet that he knew had been atomized along with the rest of the creature's first body, the gauntlet that should not exist yet was here regardless, much like its owner.

This was going to be interesting.

* * *

"So you made it," Yuffie said.

Vincent nodded. **"I'm here, Yuffie, just like I said I would be."**

She twirled one of her fuuma shuriken, scratching at the dirt with the toe of her boot as she did so. "You're going to have to kill me now, aren't you?"

He regarded her, expressionless. **"I'm going to have to try."**

The silence between them stretched to a breaking point.

"Vincent –"

" **Yuffie –"**

They stopped. Finally, Yuffie inclined her head. "You first."

Vincent blew out a sigh through his nose, a sound like a massive pair of bellows deflating. **"What is there left to say?"** He looked down at his feet, the massive talons digging into the sand. **"I remember… you always told me I should talk more. You said you liked my voice."**

She nodded. "I liked it when you would curl up with me and talk. I'd feel your voice in your chest and in mine, this rumble that was comforting and solid and all sorts of other nice things. I remember the first time I heard you laugh."

" **There are things I want to tell you, but I don't have the words. I don't have my voice any longer, Yuffie, just Galian's. I – I'm not myself any longer, in some senses, and in others I won't be myself much longer either."**

Fear shone in her eyes. "You've seemed different. This new you, this body – it's eating you up inside, isn't it?"

" **What little is left of me is being lost,"** Vincent said. **"There are whole portions of my life I don't remember any longer. I try to remember the sound of Lucrecia's voice, or the clothes you wore when we first met, and I can't. All I can think of is the smell and taste of blood."**

"When Jegudiel uplifted me, something changed." The sudden diversion of the subject did not seem to bemuse Vincent in the least; he stood quietly, attentive. "I remembered that I was angry at you, and that I loved you, but I couldn't say why. I just knew those things. There was no rhyme or reason to it. I just knew I had to see you again, because maybe if I did I would remember why and see if those feelings stayed." Yuffie looked at him, truly _looked_ at him – past Galian, past the demonic power quickly whittling away at his mind, straight at everything that was left of Vincent.

"When I saw you again, saw how furious and hurt and betrayed you were, I knew I couldn't be angry at you any longer. It was like a veil was lifted, and I could see _you_ in there, and I remembered all the reasons I loved you, only they were more important and precious than ever because they were gone and we won't ever have them back now." She took a step forward, dropping her fuuma shuriken and reaching out a hand to touch Vincent's cheek. "You said you were sorry, Vincent. Well, I'm sorry, too."

He lifted his right hand and pressed it to her hand, dwarfing it with his own. **"I would have given up everything for you,"** he said. **"I still will."**

"I know," she murmured.

He turned away, moved several paces before coming to a halt. **"Are you ready?"** he asked. **"Once we begin… I won't be able to restrain myself. My control has become more and more frayed. I –"**

"Do what you have to do," Yuffie cut him off. She retrieved her fuuma-shuriken, held both at the ready. "I won't run away."

Vincent's shoulders shuddered, and for a moment Yuffie could swear he was crying.

Then he immolated his entire body, bathing it in white flames so dense his fur was no longer visible, just his slashing talons and staring yellow eyes in a sea of power and fury. He whirled, a roar ripping from his throat, and charged.

* * *

Cloud cut down another half-dozen Losts with Blade Beams, ignoring the spray of black liquid that coated him. He was beyond caring at this point. He had one goal, one purpose: by the end of this he would kill Michael or die trying.

Denzel kept pace with him, throwing up walls of force that blocked ambitious Losts and sliced them into ribbons. They cut a brutal swath through the army, heralded by the artillery and backed up by a storm of gunfire that now emanated from the city wall. Courtesy of Red XIII, a Comet fell out of the sky and landed in front of them, kicking up a massive explosion and clearing their way.

The Losts, dying in droves, kept going.

It did not take Cloud and Denzel long to reach the true enemy. The former Fifth Angel scythed through a line of Losts to find himself standing in front of Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael, Cloud close behind him.

The First Angel, a scowl on his face, pointed a finger at Denzel.

Gabriel sprang forward faster than the eye could follow, a black streak that collided with Denzel and sent him staggering. He threw up a wall of force to try to ward off the young man's attacks, but Gabriel's next charge blew through Denzel's defenses as though they didn't even exist, sending him flying. Gabriel crouched, leapt, landed squarely on Denzel's prone form, fingers at his throat.

"If he so much as moves," Michael said, "kill him. He has meddled in our affairs long enough."

Cloud, who was now being ignored by the Losts surrounding him, stamped down his fear. He had been counting on Denzel to contain Gabriel, not the other way around. Would a direct order from Michael override Gabriel's conditioning and keep him from coming after Cloud if he attacked first? There were too many unknowns here.

It turned out to be a moot point, because Raphael stepped forward, unslinging the First Tsurugi from her back. "It's time, Cloud," she said, not even a hint of her usual cheer visible. "You've escaped me twice, now, but I'm not going to let it happen a third time. I'm going to kill you with your own sword, and I'm going to enjoy it a whole lot."

Cloud gave her a wall-eyed stare for a long moment. She held the First Tsurugi one-handed, as though it weighed next to nothing. She was stronger and faster than him, she was not subject to the same physical limitations he was, and she could feed off his emotions to increase her own life-force.

What she did not have, however, was a secret weapon.

He glanced to his left, saw Vincent and Yuffie locked in combat. He would have to hold his own until Vincent defeated her. Then he would use his ace in the hole, kill Raphael, and then join with Gabriel against Michael. It all had to be done as quickly as possible, because none of them knew how long he might have once he'd gone for broke.

"Bring it," Cloud said.

Raphael screeched in anger. She raised the First Tsurugi high, rocketing forward.

* * *

Vincent charged, spraying melting sand in his wake. Yuffie easily ducked his first, wild swipe and sliced him twice across the chest with her fuuma shuriken, leaving deep gashes. She did not expect him to keep moving, bearing down on her with all his weight, but he did. He collided with her, smashing his immolated body against hers, the wounds on his chest spitting even more hellfire as he did so. His sheer weight and momentum made her buckle, and he forced her down beneath him, the sand around them rapidly melting from the incredible heat pouring off him.

Pinned, Yuffie struggled to get free, but Vincent's bulk kept her restrained. She let go of her right fuuma shuriken to try a desperation measure: she punched him in the face. Hard.

She hadn't been expecting any response in particular, but her stomach did a somersault when he screamed right in her face and proceeded to rip her throat out with his teeth. His fangs sank deep into her trachea; with a violent twist of his head, he pulled free, spraying black fluid and gore everywhere. Intellectually, she knew it didn't actually matter, because she didn't have to breathe, but a lifetime's worth of needing her throat made her choke and panic. Vincent seized his opening, levering himself off her with one shove.

Then he curb-stomped her.

His foot came down heel-first and crushed her head in like a bad melon. Yuffie felt herself boiling away, caught between his flames and the molten glass beneath her. She couldn't see, couldn't think. Acting on instinct and desperation, she thrust out the fuuma shuriken she still held. Spirit energy gathered along its contours, focusing in its center, and then blasted out at Vincent in a ray of piercing blue energy, a miniature All Creation.

He threw up both his arms in a block. The ray did not penetrate his defenses, did not seem to even faze him, but it did push him back, giving Yuffie enough time to get to her feet. She reformed her head and throat, but knew it had been too close. That one tackle had burned away more than a fifth of her life-force, and Vincent would not let her escape another one like it. She had to go on the evasive.

With a casual movement of her foot, she got the toe of her boot beneath one of the blades of her dropped fuuma shuriken, kicked it up into the air, caught it. She spread her stance to shoulder width, held both weapons straight out from her, and let go of them.

They did not fall. Tendrils of JENOVA-disease liquid extended from her palms, keeping the fuuma shuriken suspended less than an inch away from her hands. They also sent the weapons into high-speed rotations, turning the curved blades into a blur of motion and sharp edges.

Vincent threw back his head in another roar before hurling a fireball at her. In response, Yuffie thrust one of her shuriken into the projectile's path. The whirling blades dispersed the fireball, scattering it to the winds; Yuffie retaliated by hurling the other shuriken straight at Vincent's face.

It sliced out both his eyes before curving around and returning unerringly to her hand, all the while spinning like a crazed top and linked to her by strands of liquid. Vincent howled, power exploding from his eye sockets, but the attack did not have the effect Yuffie had hoped. He hunched, every muscle tensing. Before her eyes, his own regenerated in the mass of flame that was his body, growing back in less than two seconds. The wounds on his chest also closed up, seemingly sealed by hellfire.

He charged again, obviously not interested in tactics or subtlety. Yuffie hurled herself out of his path, came up in a roll, lashed out in a pair of reverse throws of her shuriken. The weapons carved deep furrows in Vincent's flank as he tried to skid to a halt; he didn't even notice. She whirled, not wanting him at her back, meeting his eyes. Not seeming to recognize her, Vincent leaped fifty feet into the air.

Yuffie tracked his movement, saw him hurling more fireballs at her. She brought up both her fuuma shuriken in a reeling defensive shield. His fireballs exploded harmlessly against them, but he kept sending more and more at once, until she was staggering under the blows of a dozen projectiles hammering her defenses, forcing her back. With a desperate effort she swept the last of the fireballs away into nothing, only to realize Vincent had been blinding her with their sheer numbers. He was falling out of the sky right at her, not more than five feet away now.

She rolled out of the way; his impact where she had stood a moment before shook the ground and sent several tons of dust into the sky. The sand bucked beneath her feet like a thing alive. Trying to maintain her balance, she went down on one knee.

Vincent, apparently not affected by the chaos he'd caused, seized his opening. He rushed at her, launched into an arcing crescent kick that took her beneath the chin and tossed her into the air. The talons of his foot lacerated her throat again and the force of the blow crushed all her teeth together, shattering them. He jumped up after her twisting, stunned form.

Seizing hold of her by the waist with one hand, Vincent ripped her right arm clean off with the other, hurling it and its shuriken back down to the ground. Yuffie kicked him in the gut, felt like she had just struck an immovable force made of flame. He got his claws around her other arm and she fought him, trying to break free, but at this point his strength was immeasurable. The limb popped free of its socket in a spray of black.

Yuffie did the only thing she could think of, reverting to a fluid form and arcing back down toward the ground to retrieve her fallen limbs. Vincent had obviously seen this coming, or perhaps he was just acting on instincts that served him well. Whatever the case, he incinerated both her arms and her shuriken with well-placed fireballs and sent another three of them burning straight through her twisting, amorphous form. She lost control of her movement and rained down to the ground in a splatter, where the still-burning sand began to boil what was left of her.

Roaring, gone beyond all reason, Vincent landed a dozen feet away, watched as she coalesced back into her normal form. Her jumpsuit was in burned shreds, revealing wide swaths of skin that would twitch and turn black at random due to her quickly-slipping control.

Somehow, calling on a reserve of strength she had not even known she possessed, Yuffie regained her feet. After Vincent's last attack, there was very little left of her. If she became amorphous again and he put another fireball through her, she would not survive.

Vincent's nostrils flared. His lips peeled back from his teeth; the flames immolating his body died down to nothing. He began to advance slowly, almost casually.

_He can smell my fear,_ Yuffie thought with a jolt.

She was not going to go down this easily. With her last remaining strength, she channeled spirit energy through herself, down her head and up from her legs and stomach, focusing it all in her palms. Never before had she fired an All Creation from her hands, and now she discovered why. As the searing blue beam lanced out at Vincent, she could feel her hands boiling away from the sheer power of the attack.

He put one hand up. The All Creation drilled into it, but he held his hand there, continuing to advance inexorably forward. Through the haze of pain that now permeated everything she was, Yuffie could see the attack was having no effect; the spirit energy burned around his hand and dispersed, deflected by the concentrated power he had manifested in his palm. She kept giving it her all, pouring every ounce of energy she had into the beam, but it was not enough. He kept coming, closing the distance between them – now ten feet, now five, three, two…

When he pressed his hand against both of hers, the All Creation destabilized and went up in an explosion of blue-white power. It hurled Yuffie backward, slamming her into a still-molten dune, where she lay weak and broken, barely able to even reform her hands.

Vincent emerged from the explosion untouched, the grin still on his face. His yellow eyes belonged to someone else; they burned with a feral light. Even as Yuffie watched him walk up to her, a skein of drool dripped from his lips and landed, sizzling, on the ground. Vincent bent, took her by the throat, hefted her into the air. She dangled in his grip, obviously beaten.

The fight became abominable.

He thrust his free hand into her torso, right between her breasts, and twisted it, raking her insides with his talons. She gave a short, sharp scream, which made him tighten his grip around her throat. For a few long seconds he kept his hand where it was, buried up to its wrist inside her; then he sliced down through her abdomen and ripped it free, sending black blood and entrails spilling wetly to the ground. Now she was screaming continuously, punctuated by horrible, heaving, choking sobs as tears ran down her cheeks and blood welled up in her mouth.

Vincent dropped her. She hit the ground with a wet smack and curled up into a ball, clutching at her shredded body and weeping. Looking almost curious, he cocked his head to the side, studying her, the grin fading from his face. Then he kicked her in the gut, eliciting another scream, and the grin returned in force.

He threw back his head and howled at the sky, a wailing cry of victory and glee that chilled the blood in the veins of every human being who heard it.

* * *

Cloud turned away another wild strike from Raphael, using her own momentum to spin her out of the way. He backed up a pace, ready for her next attack, when a sound from the depths of Hell pierced him.

Raphael also stood stock-still, staring in the direction of the howl with unbelieving eyes. Deciding to risk it, Cloud looked over his shoulder. The Losts were still streaming past in droves, but through their ranks he could just barely make out Vincent, screaming at the sky as he stood over a figure that could only be Yuffie curled up in red-hot sand.

"Vincent," Cloud murmured. "Don't do this."

"He's gone insane," Raphael observed clinically.

Michael laughed. "Yes," he said. "Yes, he has."

* * *

The pain was blinding now, more terrible than anything she had ever felt in her life, but it was not enough to kill her. There was only one thing that could truly kill her, she thought, and it was crouching over her, its breath hot on her face.

Yuffie, still clutching at her abdomen, managed to fight through the agony and roll herself onto her back so she looked directly up at the thing that had once been her friend, her companion, her lover. The beast hesitated, confused. It could no longer smell her fear.

She reached out a hand, dripping her own black blood, to touch his cheek. "Go ahead," she whispered, barely able to speak. "I told you I wouldn't run away, Vincent." His fur was rough and coarse under her touch, nothing like the smoothness of his skin in her memory. "I love you."

He stared at her, uncomprehending, the beast in full force and not wanting to let go. Something in his eyes changed, however; he reached out a trembling hand and, with infinite care and precision, moved a strand of hair out of her eyes.

" **I love you, too,"** Vincent Valentine said.

Without even looking at it, he grabbed his gauntlet and ripped it free of his arm, not bothering to be gentle. He hurled it away, sent it spinning into the endless ranks of Losts. Then he gathered Yuffie up, cradling her to him as gently as he could. She smiled up at him, tears and black fluid staining her face, and he wanted to smile back but knew he could not, because his face was gone and the last thing she ever saw would be a beast grinning at her.

So he cried. He had no tears, but he cried anyway, droplets of blood streaking down his face from his eyes. It was all he could do for her.

"Let's go," Yuffie whispered. "Everyone's waiting for us."

Vincent nodded, blood still streaming from his eyes, and reached deep inside himself, found the core of Galian's power there, twisting and struggling to get out, eating away at his mind. He touched it, fed its flames, felt the heat crawl along his limbs and chest and face, but he did not stop. He kept feeding it, pushing it to even greater heights, goading it, until it exploded into an inferno.

A light blossomed in the midst of the Losts. It grew in radiance until it was blinding, blotting out the sky and the stars and the rising sun. It made no sound; its stillness was so overpowering, so oppressing, that it drowned out all other noise, blanketing the battlefield in silence.

When it faded, there was nothing except blackened glass for a hundred yards around its epicenter – blackened glass, and the remains of what might once have been a brass gauntlet.


	40. Chapter 40

For a brief, silent moment, the battlefield was awash in bright light.

Then the light faded, leaving several hundred fewer Losts and a wall of very shocked defenders. Marlene, Tseng, Red XIII, Reno, and Rude were all on one corner of the wall, clustered around one of the mounted machine guns, which Reno was manning. "That was Vincent," Marlene swore, shouting over the sounds of combat. She started firing her assault rifle again. "Nobody else could have done that!"

"You're sure?" Tseng asked. He stood next to Marlene, observing the oncoming tide of death through the scope of a high-powered rifle. The gun spoke, a bullet ripping through four Losts and dropping them before finally coming to a halt in the sternum of a fifth.

Red XIII, ablaze with power, summoned another Comet to come crashing down on the army that was now only a few hundred yards from the city walls and still undaunted. "It had to have been!" he snarled. "You saw what the explosion looked like! Even if you weren't aware of it, you felt the aura it exuded!"

Next to him, Reno pumped dozens of rounds a second from the turret's twin barrels into the advancing army. "An aura?" he yelled, almost drowned out by the roar of the gun. "Are you for real, Red? I didn't know you were stupid into pseudoscience and bullshit like that!"

"It is not science!" Red XIII yelled back. "Couldn't you feel it? A sense of – almost beyond words – sadness, but acceptance and resignation?"

Rude stood by the machine gun, simultaneously making sure the ammunition belt did not jam and firing his own assault rifle at the Losts. He glanced sideways at Red XIII, found the beast's gaze, nodded.

"I felt it."

"Whatever happened doesn't matter right now!" Marlene exclaimed, stopping to reload. "We can worry about Vincent later! The Losts are going to be at the wall inside of two minutes at this pace!"

Panting with the effort, Red XIII summoned an entire barrage of comets, a wide spread that decimated a wide swath of Losts along the army's front lines. "If we continue gunning them down as they approach, they will suffer enormous casualties taking the wall! We just need to –"

None of them were ever certain of what Red XIII was going to suggest, because at that moment a dire radiance sprang up in the middle of the army, a fountain of inverted light. It faded to grey at the edges and was so black at the center that looking at it hurt. The defenders squeezed their eyes shut against the horrible anti-glow or threw up their arms to block the sight; the entire battlefield darkened.

The blackness shrank, focusing itself into a ball of concentrated negative energy. The defenders on the wall opened their eyes or withdrew their arms just in time to see the sphere of perfect blackness flash across the battlefield, leaving nothing but emptiness in its wake. It ate up every Lost in its path, any terrain it had to pass through, everything. As it did, it grew in diameter until it was almost twenty feet high.

An awful premonition struck Red XIII. "GET OFF THE WALL!" he roared. He leaped at Marlene, sweeping her legs out from under her and catching her on his back before jumping clear, fifty feet down into Wutai. He landed easily on all fours, saw the Turks in close pursuit, their mako-enhanced bodies easily taking the fall. "MOVE!"

The sphere hit the wall. In one moment, the negative light shone out, darker than the farthest reaches of the universe, engulfing everything.

In the next, most of the wall standing in the army's way was gone.

* * *

Cloud rolled back to his feet and stared with a mixture of shock and disbelief at the perfectly smooth furrow that had been carved into the battlefield by the sphere.

At its origin stood Michael, his right hand outstretched, index finger pointed at Wutai. Losts swarmed around Cloud, Raphael, and the First Angel, charging the city, but he seemed not to notice, looking past the rush of bodies to smile at Cloud. "Your friends jumped clear," he said. "This time, at any rate. My next attack will not spare them."

"If you could have done that from the beginning," Cloud snarled, "why didn't you?" He leapt out of the way of a clumsy attack from Raphael; she slammed the First Tsurugi into the ground where Cloud had stood, spewing sand everywhere.

"The sphere of annihilation requires fuel to achieve its maximum destructive potential," Michael replied, nodding at the Losts surrounding them. "There needed to be several hundred of my Losts in the path of the sphere for it to destroy that entire side of the wall."

"You'd use your own soldiers as _fuel?_ "

"They are mindless beasts," Michael sniffed. "Good for nothing else except killing those enemies too pathetic for me to deal with personally." He paused, his head cocked, then smiled. "It would seem my signal has been received."

Cloud crossed his shortswords above his head in an x-pattern, taking Raphael's powerful vertical swing between the blades and redirecting it around his side. Her own momentum working against her, she teetered forward and slammed into the sand face-first, sprawling. "What?"

"That relic of an artillery cannon has ceased fire," Michael observed. "My agents within Wutai were instructed to begin taking the city in concert with the army once the wall was destroyed. They have apparently begun their work."

Only then did Cloud remember all the black-clad uplifteds in the Immaculate Swords' base at the North Crater, lesser enemies dwarfed even by the late Renbato in power. They would still be more than a match for most of the guards within the city, to say nothing of the noncombatants they would no doubt be facing. The Immaculate Swords really were pulling out all the stops for this attack.

"I've had enough!" Raphael screeched, scrabbling to her feet. "You've done nothing but stay on the defensive this entire time, Cloud, and I hate it! You're too calm when you're just trying to play for time! Go on the offensive, Cloud! Get angry! Hate me! Make me feel it!"

Cloud glanced past her at the expanse of blackened glass where Vincent and Yuffie had been fighting not a minute before. He had only been trying to hold out until Yuffie had been taken out of the fight. According to the plan, now _was_ the time.

Doubt flooded through him. What if Reeve's idea didn't work? It could spell absolute disaster, being stuck unable to defend himself unless he could work out what to do within seconds. There were so many variables to account for, and no way of compensating for any of them.

Then again, that was why Reeve had called it a gamble.

"You want me to go on the offensive, Raphael?" Cloud asked. He shot a quick look at Denzel, who was still barely managing to keep Gabriel contained. The Second Angel battered mercilessly at the barriers Denzel had put up, compelled by his conditioning to attack blindly in an attempt to protect his so-called allies.

Raphael's lips curved upward in a cruel smile. "Oh, please. I would enjoy that very much, Cloud."

He shrugged, slung his shortswords back in their harness. Raphael's smile twitched as she looked on in confusion, faded when she saw Cloud withdraw a syringe from a heavily padded pocket in his vest. The syringe glowed with the bright green of mako.

Cloud grinned at her. "You asked for it."

Before Raphael could move a muscle, he jabbed the needle into his carotid artery and pushed down the plunger, sending the _kànderén_ cocktail shooting directly into his brain.

* * *

"I knew you'd be back soon," Tifa said to him.

Cloud could feel the liquid fire of the mako spreading through his brain. His head was already throbbing intensely, a bright halo of pain that he imagined could be seen as a hazy light around the dome of his skull. "I need your help, Tifa."

The two of them were in a place outside of space and time, a place with no dimensions or restrictions, no past or future. Light flashed past Cloud's eyes, going nowhere from nowhere, and mingled with darkness in equal measure. All he knew was that he and Tifa were here, now – not that _now_ was really any more than a concept in this place – and he needed her.

"Of course you do," Tifa sighed. "Of course."

"I need the power of a WEAPON, but I don't know how to access it," Cloud said. "That's why Reeve made the extra-strong _kànderén_ cocktail I just took – so I could see you again and ask."

Tifa smiled at him, an expression so familiar and comforting it made his heart ache with the knowledge that he would never see it again while he was alive. "Do you think I'm me, Cloud?"

"You told me the name of the piece you always used to play," Cloud replied. "Only you would know that."

"Yes, but when I died, I returned to the Planet. It gained all my memories, my knowledge, my experiences, and in exchange I got to join the Lifestream to be reborn at a later time. If there was some being in the Lifestream, capable of tapping into the Planet's collective knowledge, couldn't it have created a perfectly convincing, fake Tifa to show you whenever you entered a mako trance?"

"Are you saying the Tifa that told me I'm a WEAPON wasn't real?" Cloud asked, dread clenching at his stomach.

"The Tifa who told you that was as real as the Tifa who guided you through when you found your _kànderén_ , and she was as real as the Tifa who is here with you right now."

"So none of you were – are – real? But when I got my _kànderén_ , Tifa showed me the dark parts of myself and helped me accept them, cast off my fear of dying unforgiven… That wasn't a lie!"

"You're right; it wasn't," Tifa assured him. "And neither was your being a WEAPON, or anything I'm telling you here. But couldn't it _have_ been, and so very easily at that? What if Sephiroth was still present in the Lifestream, or some shredded remnants of JENOVA's will remained? They could have been using you this entire time."

"But Sephiroth is gone, and so is JENOVA. Why are you telling me what could have been? What does it have to do with me getting the power of the WEAPONs?"

"It doesn't matter that they aren't there; what matters is that they could have been. Possibilities, Cloud. They're the lifeblood of the universe."

Cloud squinted at Tifa; she was fading in and out, her form distorting and becoming that of other people even as she spoke. The realization came to him, seemingly out of nowhere, that he was not really talking to Tifa, but rather an amalgamation of people and intellects, a sort of group mind that was unified under the leadership and label of the experiences and memories that had been Tifa. A simulacrum, with the knowledge of the Planet, constructed to interact with him. The sudden clarity shocked him, and he felt betrayed, hurt.

"You're beginning to understand," Tifa/Not Tifa said to him. "You're on the cusp. You just need something to shove you over."

"You're not really Tifa," Cloud said. "There's something in you that used to be her, but you're not really her."

"I'm everything Tifa was and more," Tifa/Not Tifa protested. "Don't you recognize me, Cloud? Rather, don't you recognize _us?_ "

"No."

"It doesn't matter. We are running low on time. Any moment now, Raphael is going to bury the First Tsurugi in your skull and kill you. Listen to us, Cloud." Tifa/Not Tifa moved forward, took Cloud's hands in its own. "Possibilities, divergent pathways, are the lifeblood of the universe, Cloud."

"You've said that already."

"Yes, but you don't realize what it _means._ The universe always tends toward the path of increased entropy because there is more potential there, more potential for choice. Choice is what creates possibilities, and is in turn created by them. Think of it as the currency of the universe. If possibility is its lifeblood, then choice is the form in which it's bought and sold."

"I don't understand what this has to do with me getting the power of the WEAPONs."

"The WEAPONs were so formidable because they were creatures of pure instinct, Cloud, creatures of singular purpose. They never made choices, never exploited the possibilities of the universe. So, a WEAPON is the antithesis of a human being. A human being can destroy, but it has to make a choice to do that, and by making that choice it creates so many more possibilities than it can wipe out."

"And?"

"So by joining a human being, you, with the power of a thing that is your complete opposite, the Planet is creating something entirely new, something that's never been seen before. Even it doesn't know what will come out of this. The thing is, as a human, you can't simply be joined to your exact opposite. _You have to make that choice."_

Cloud swallowed, everything becoming clear to him. "The Planet is putting me through a _kànderén_ that's not like anything anyone else has ever gone through."

Tifa/Not Tifa nodded, inasmuch as its shifting form could convey a nod. "Not so long ago, you chose to give up your fear of death. Now you have to choose to give up everything else. Once you have the power of the WEAPONs, there won't be any going back. You'll be incontrovertibly locked into your purpose… whatever that might be. Maybe you won't have any choices left and will do nothing but destroy. Maybe you'll be confronted with more choices than you ever had before. We can't say."

Cloud turned away from Tifa/Not Tifa. "I never wanted this," he said. "All I wanted was to live out the rest of my life with Tifa, making deliveries and seeing Marlene and Denzel grow up. I didn't have any lofty aspirations or anything like that. I'd already saved the world twice. I thought that would be enough."

"We understand your regrets," Tifa/Not Tifa assured him, "but time is short. Will you…?"

Resignation settled in on him. "But now there's nothing left," he went on. "I mean, there's Reeve and Red XIII and Rufus and the Turks, and Marlene and Denzel _are_ still alive, but… This isn't my world any longer. It's their world now, and I'm a stranger in it. I already don't belong here." He turned back to Tifa/Not Tifa, eyes shining with determination.

"Do it," he said.

* * *

Raphael started moving the instant he saw Cloud plunge the syringe into his neck. She brought the First Tsurugi up with both hands, raising it above her head for a crushing downward strike that would shatter Cloud's skull and bisect him.

It never landed.

Cloud's eyes, which had gone dull and dark, hardened and blazed with the power of mako. He brought up one hand, almost casually, and took the blow in his palm.

He didn't even flinch. The blade slammed harmlessly into his hand, its immense force going straight through him and making the sand at his feet explode into the air. Raphael stared at Cloud, uncomprehending, as spirit energy oozed from the ground beneath him and traveled up his legs to his torso to his arms and head. This was not like the glow he normally exuded when calling upon the power of the Planet, however; this was somehow thicker, brighter, more dreadful.

Cloud looked at Raphael, and it was like he was looking through her, past the physical and into the realm of the soul. She quailed before him, struggling to pull the First Tsurugi from his grasp even as his mere gaze assaulted the gates of her mind.

" _ **Give me my sword back,"**_ Cloud said.

He did not speak with his voice. It was a cacophony that issued from his mouth, a hundred thousand voices all speaking together in one, terrible, husky whisper. He spoke with the voice of the Planet, with the voice of a WEAPON.

When Raphael did not let go of the sword, Cloud ripped it from her grasp as easily as he might take a stick from a child. The hand she held it with dissolved into a spray black liquid, he pulled his sword away so violently and swiftly. She recoiled, not wanting to look at him but unable to tear her eyes away.

Cloud returned the First Tsurugi to his harness, the power of the Planet continuing to burn about him. It no longer flowed from the ground, but instead poured out of him in a constant stream, an aura of bright light in which his eyes were two impossibly intense points of blue-green. He did not even seem entirely physical any longer, as though his crude body were being burned away with the purity of the energy flowing through him. Perhaps it was; he couldn't tell. He was beyond it, beyond it all.

" _ **You said at one point that I felt things on raw nerves, that every emotion I experienced was ecstasy for you to leech from me,"**_ Cloud said to Raphael. _**"Here. I'll give you all the emotion you ever wanted."**_

Raphael, sensing what was about to happen, turned to flee, but Cloud was suddenly standing in front of her, the speed of his passage so extreme that he seemed to vanish from sight for a split second before reappearing. She threw up her hands in a last-ditch, desperate effort.

It was futile. Cloud reached through her arms as though they were not even there, touched the forefinger of his right hand to her forehead. All the strongest emotions of every human being who had lived and died in the past five hundred years poured directly into Raphael's mind, annihilating any defenses she tried to erect against the onslaught. They kept coming, fueled by Cloud's connection with the Planet, battering against Raphael's psyche over and over, an impossibly vast weight crushing her within her own consciousness, permitted entry by the very _vicarius_ that was supposed to make her invincible.

A second later, she lost all cohesion as her ego image and sense of self shattered, buried under the emotions of countless souls. She plummeted to the ground in a shapeless deluge of black fluid, which pooled together and lay still.

" _ **I hope,"**_ Cloud said to the puddle of darkness that had once been the Third Angel, _**"you're satisfied."**_

Denzel and Gabriel stood a short distance away, staring at Cloud, not even trying to disguise their shock. Michael looked at the newest WEAPON and what was left of Raphael, his expression inscrutable.

" _ **Denzel. Gabriel. Get to Wutai and help stave off the Losts and the uplifteds inside the city."**_ Cloud strode forward and imposed himself between Michael and the two he was addressing. _**"I'll handle Michael myself."**_

"Are you sure?" Denzel asked.

Slowly, Cloud turned his head until Denzel could just barely see one of his piercing, glowing eyes.

"I advise you to do as he says," Gabriel murmured. "In his current state, neither of us has any ability to sway him, and he should be able to fight Michael on equal terms. The city needs our help; the walls have been breached. His plan is a good one."

Denzel swallowed. "Be careful!" he called.

The humanoid amalgamation of rippling power that had once been Cloud nodded at him, and Denzel could almost swear he saw a smile amidst the incalculable energies. _**"I will. Now go!"**_

Without saying anything further, the two dissolved into black mist and made straight for Wutai at top speed. Cloud turned his head back to face Michael fully – a mostly unnecessary gesture, as he had passed beyond simple visual perception, but old habits died hard. Even as he did so, the First Tsurugi completed its transformation; it now existed as a blade of force, all the crude metal gone and replaced with shimmering, hard edges of pure strength. He took it from where it adhered to his back, leveled it one-handed at the First Angel. It weighed, of course, nothing.

There was nothing left of his physical body at this point, that much he was sure of. With a thought, he clamped down on the vast amount of energy that comprised his being, shaped them into an approximation of what he had been.

Where there had been a being of pure flame, there was now Cloud Strife as he had existed, but subtly different. His eyes still burned with incalculable power and blue-green intensity. His clothing was white instead of black. Most significantly, however, the AVALANCHE ribbon around his left bicep glowed blood red, throbbing with a power of its own. He still shone like a beacon, though it was now possible for an ordinary human to look at him without being blinded.

Above them, the sky grew darker. Without any warning or visible cause, a raindrop plummeted to the ground between Cloud and Michael, wetting the sand.

More raindrops followed, quickly increasing in intensity from a drizzle to a downpour. Cloud, still shining through the rain, looked up at the sky and smiled at the thick, grey clouds that were rolling across it.

"'Rainclouds,'" he murmured, his voice no longer echoing with the power of the Planet. It was under control for the moment.

"What about them?" Michael asked, his expression unreadable, his voice flat.

"No, not those," Cloud replied. "'Rainclouds.' I was just thinking." He looked back at Michael. "That was the name of Tifa's favorite piece."

"How very touching."

Cloud shook his head and frowned, forcing himself to focus on the _now_. This new body – no, this new existence – made time seem different to him, more fluid. He would have to learn to compensate somehow. "We can still end this now, Michael, before anyone else has to get hurt," he said. "We can figure out some way to work things out."

Michael sneered at him. "You are bold, Cloud Strife. Yes, you now have the power of a WEAPON, granted to you by the Planet, but do not underestimate me so quickly. I have three distinct advantages, which are paired with three distinct disadvantages you possess."

Confused, Cloud raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Michael held up a hand and started counting off points on his fingers. "One: you are new to this kind of existence, whereas I have had years and years to adjust to life a superior being. Even if you are more powerful than me – which has yet to be determined, mind you – I have the advantage of experience.

"Two: you have much to lose. If I fail here, I die, and that is the end of it. If you fail here, however, your friends, those under your protection, the Planet itself – everyone and everything will die or fall under my sway. I have the advantage of not having anything to lose.

"And, of course, there is the most significant advantage of all. If the other two were not enough to secure my victory, this one surely will be. Would you care to hear it, Cloud Strife?"

Cloud shrugged. "If you insist. I don't think it really matters."

"Oh, but it does," Michael laughed. "You see, Cloud… you didn't know this was going to happen. You have no idea what to do with the power of a WEAPON. As far as you are concerned, this is all completely out of the blue. I, on the other hand, have been waiting for this for a very long time. In fact, I have been counting on the Planet giving you this power!"

"You're insane," Cloud growled. "You've been counting on it? Why? Why the hell would you want me to have this power?"

"Isn't it obvious, Cloud Strife?" the First Angel roared. "No? Then I will tell you!" He stalked forward, a manic grin on his face, the expression even more alien on the otherwise-familiar features of Zack Fair. He stopped a foot from the other man, leaned in with exaggerated caution, brought his mouth next to Cloud's ear.

"I have been indeed counting on you having this power, Cloud Strife," Michael whispered. "Why?

" _Because I am going to take it for my own."_


	41. Chapter 41

If blood had still run through Cloud's veins, it would have gone cold. "What?" he whispered.

"That's right," Michael hissed in his ear. "I knew this was going to happen. I knew the Planet was going to give you the powers of a WEAPON. And now I'm going to make them mine." Cloud stared at him, wide-eyed; the First Angel threw back his head and laughed. "Honestly, do you think so little of me? Do you really think I would have let Raphael –" he waved dismissively at the puddle that had once been the Third Angel – "uplift you and grant you the massive increase in power that the process brings? I am not an idiot, Cloud. I ordered her to uplift you under the pretense of letting her have you back, but I knew the Planet would protect you… and in doing so, it would inform you of your purpose."

"But how?" Cloud demanded. "How did you know the Planet was going to make me a WEAPON and that it would protect me from the disease? Even I didn't know that!"

"Do you think I lay dormant in Project Revelations' base for all those years before Uriel found me?" Michael asked. "Of course not. Some time after the Project fell apart, the stasis field on my pod malfunctioned, and I woke to find myself alone in Deepground. I wandered for some time, not sure what to do with myself… and then I found you."

Michael began to pace a small, tight circle around Cloud, not looking at the blonde but instead staring straight ahead, eyes distant. The rain was coming faster now, and the First Angel's boots left deep prints in sand that was rapidly turning to mud. "To be precise, I found you, Genesis Rhapsodos, and Weiss the Immaculate, all in stasis pods around a massive Materia that Rhapsodos referred to as the Gift of the Goddess.

"When I approached, Rhapsodos got out of his pod and greeted me with a quote from the play, LOVELESS. 'When the war of the beasts brings about the world's end/The goddess descends from the sky/Wings of light and dark spread afar/She guides us to bliss, her gift everlasting.'" Michael sighed. "Ridiculous nonsense. LOVELESS was part of my cultural flash-learning program, and I always found it inane and pointless."

"I wouldn't discount it like that." Cloud closed his eyes, searching Zack's memories that JENOVA had implanted within his mind. "That play gave Genesis a strange knowledge of the future. He foresaw Sephiroth's insanity, Zack's death… he might even have known about all of this."

"The only reason the play is mysterious is because it's so damnably easy to interpret in different ways," Michael sniffed. "The story of the three friends seeking the 'Gift of the Goddess' applied very well to Rhapsodos and his partners Angeal Hewley and Sephiroth. Hewley was the 'prisoner;' to regain his lost honor and fulfill his oath to his friends, he sacrificed himself fighting Zack. Rhapsodos and Sephiroth competed for many years to be the 'hero,' but in the end that title went to Rhapsodos when Sephiroth went insane and became the 'traveler,' with his greatest ambition being to travel the cosmos with the Planet as his vessel. However, it applies equally well to you, Vincent… and Gabriel."

Cloud started. "What?"

"I've known Gabriel was intent on betraying me for some years now," Michael said. "He does not agree with my 'vision.'"

"You say 'vision' like it's fake."

"Very astute, Cloud. My grand design to uplift the world and create a new, better humanity – a lie."

"But… the army, the Immaculate Swords, all the work you put into it…" Cloud ran a hand down his face, confused. "Uriel believed in you so strongly, Michael. Vincent told me when he brought me up to speed. He said Uriel was the most fanatic man he had ever met."

"All the pawns needed something to believe in, so I invented a vision for them to follow," Michael replied, continuing to pace in a close orbit around Cloud. "My real goal has always been the usurpation of your place within the grand scheme of things. I was born with the singular purpose of destroying Cloud Strife; how can you think my true plan would be anything but some natural extension of that? Uriel surely lectured Vincent on knowing one's purpose in life. This is mine."

For a moment, he paused, thinking. "But I can return to that later. You, Vincent, and Gabriel are the three protagonists of the new LOVELESS, set at the end of the world amidst the 'war of the beasts.' Vincent was the 'prisoner,' trapped in his own immortality, unable to live a life of peace with Yuffie Kisaragi because of his own guilt. He just sacrificed himself to liberate both of them from the cycle.

"Now it just remains to be seen if you are the 'hero' or the 'traveler,' Cloud. Both are supposed to live on, but LOVELESS is obviously not infallible. After all, Sephiroth was the last 'traveler,' and he died – at your hands, too."

"If Gabriel, Vincent and I are the three friends in LOVELESS, what's the 'Gift of the Goddess' we're searching for?" Cloud asked.

"For Vincent? Peace. For you? Forgiveness. For Gabriel? Purpose." Michael shrugged. "As I said, LOVELESS can be interpreted in so many different ways. 'Even if the morrow is barren of promises/Nothing shall forestall my return/To become the dew that quenches the land/To spare the sands, the seas, the skies/I offer thee this silent sacrifice.'"

"So Genesis told you that he, Weiss and I are WEAPONs," Cloud said, steering their dialogue back toward Michael's encounter with the ex-SOLDIER.

"Not in those words, precisely, but when he talked about being protectors of the Planet, empowered by the Goddess Minerva, it was easy enough to deduce what was going on," Michael replied. "He said he and Weiss were guardians of the Planet, and that you were the guardian of humanity. He also warned me against the course of action he knew I would take, and then forbade me from removing you from your pod and killing you."

"And you listened?" Cloud asked, beginning to get twitchy. The Losts continued to stream past him into the city. He needed to hear what Michael had to say in case it was important, kill the man, and get on with the business of saving Wutai. The First Angel, however, seemed to have still more to say.

"Of course not. I fought him, tried to get to you. He was too powerful for me, however; he was empowered by the Planet in addition to his already formidable prowess, and I was practically a newborn in an adult's body, with all the combat techniques in the world and no experience in them at all. He defeated me soundly and warned me that he would kill me the next time I tried something like that."

"So you went back into stasis until Uriel found you," Cloud said.

"Yes. Of course, he wasn't Uriel then – just Peter Rodolphus – but when he talked of the process of uplifting, I realized I could be so much more than the sum of my parts and my purpose. If you were the guardian of humanity, then I would create a threat to humanity's very existence, one so grave the Planet would have no choice but to bestow its power upon you and make you a WEAPON. Therefore, I joined forces with Uriel, and I created the Immaculate Swords to be the threat the Planet would want you to combat."

"I don't understand you," Cloud snarled in a low, dangerous voice. "You drive humanity to the edge of extinction, ruin countless people's lives with false promises about redemption and forgiveness through uplifting, and lead all of them on what's really just a double-blind to increase your own power? You… _bastard._ "

"Don't look so upset, Cloud," Michael laughed. "This isn't your fault, if that's what you're thinking. The Planet could have chosen someone else to be its champion and I would still have gone through with this plan. It's just that this way I get to take the power of a WEAPON for myself and kill you – thereby fulfilling my purpose – in one blow."

"But why? Why do you want the power of a WEAPON? What good will it do you when you already have all this power from being uplifted?"

"I've done exhaustive research into the WEAPONs and their place in the universe as they relate to human beings," Michael said. "Most texts, both modern and ancient, are useless, but there is some apocrypha worth consideration… 'Yea, and the Reckoning shall commence between Opposite Forces; the Man, who is Choice, and the Weapon, who is Not. And there shall be a third Force, a race who were once Men but are not Weapons, trapped between and being composed of Nothing: indeed, this Force should not even exist.'"

"The uplifteds," Cloud said. "You're the third race."

"If being human is about making choices, and becoming uplifted is about giving up one's humanity, then an uplifted cannot make them," Michael agreed. "The human must make choices all his life, which are significant because he is finite; the WEAPON makes no choices but follows only a singular purpose, which is significant because it is infinite. The uplifteds are Uriel's attempt at creating you, what you are right now, the perfect fusion of the man and the WEAPON. You incorporate the best features of both: the man's choices and finite perspective and the WEAPON's purpose and infinite existence."

He gestured toward Wutai, where his underlings were fighting and dying, locked in combat with the city's defensive forces. "The uplifteds, however, gave up their humanity because they could not deal with man's finite nature, and the significance of his choices are tied to that very nature, so they are not men. But they cannot approach the infinity of the WEAPON because of their origins, and even if they invent a purpose for themselves it is only an attempt to impose order upon their chaotic existences, so they are not WEAPONs. You are both; they are nothing."

"But if you knew this from the beginning, or had some idea of it, why did you still agree to let Uriel uplift you?" Cloud asked. "And why are you talking as though you're not part of the uplifteds?"

Michael chuckled. "Because I'm not uplifted, Cloud. I'm precisely the same as I was when I emerged from the stasis pod all those years ago, just wiser and more experienced."

Cloud stared at him. "You're lying."

"Of course not. I've been lying every day up until today; now is the time for truth."

"But my _kànderén_ tells me you're uplifted!"

"As part of her deal with us, Yuffie Kisaragi provided me the secret of _kànderén._ I acquired it myself, learned to control it… and to confuse it. I can purposefully emit an aura that fools _kànderén_ users into seeing me as uplifted. Simple, really."

"But all your own subordinates swear you're uplifted and your power dwarfs Sephiroth's! Uriel…"

"I killed Vincent Valentine through sheer force of will," Michael sneered. "I can use that same strength to manipulate the knowledge of the Ancients, make the Lifestream work for me against its will – in effect, use all the power of Materia without actually requiring Materia itself. I can hypnotize, implant suggestions or false beliefs, travel vast distances in the blink of an eye… all of which is draining, of course, but possible. Do not mistake me – I am still greater than Sephiroth in terms of power. I simply am not the god that everyone, even Gabriel, believes me to be."

"Then if you don't have all this power, how do you expect to beat me?"

The First Angel's eyes glittered unnervingly. "I have my plans."

"So what will your purpose be once you've done that?" Cloud demanded. "Once you've killed me and taken my power, what then? Will you become the protector of humanity instead of me? Because if that's the case, I'll give you this power right now without a fight."

"Of course I will be its protector," Michael replied. "I have no desire to turn every human being on this planet into a Lost or an uplifted. When I have your power, I will destroy everything that is a threat – even my own so-called 'allies' and 'troops' – and rejuvenate the Planet. I will watch over humanity, and from my position in the heavens I will… guide it, push it, toward a better future."

"But don't you see that what you're saying isn't protection?" Cloud protested. "You'd just be making sheep out of us, not letting us make the choices that you say separate us from the WEAPONs!"

Michael stopped in front of Cloud, a knowing smile on his face. "Well. It all comes down to your point of view, doesn't it?"

"You're no better than Sephiroth was," Cloud said. "All this talk about purpose and choice and you still end up pursuing the same goal as him – becoming a god."

"It's a good goal."

"Fine. Still, even if you've been planning this for decades, you have to realize the position you're in." Cloud glanced at the Losts still swarming past the two of them. He brought the First Tsurugi – now a blade of pure, shimmering force – around in a one-handed, casual sweep.

A blazing shockwave of white-hot energy strobes burst from the edge of the blade. It swept through the Losts, cutting through the creatures' ranks as though they didn't even exist, vaporizing whatever it touched. Steam from the pouring rain rose in its wake.

When the shockwave finally died down, it had blown through hundreds of Losts across more than a quarter mile.

"Very impressive, Cloud," Michael said, slowly clapping his hands. "Truly a potent display of destructive ability. You are a WEAPON, and I am just a man, even if I am the most powerful one alive. It would seem you have the advantage."

"Drop the smug act," Cloud snapped. "If you move even one muscle I'll kill you where you stand. I know I can do it."

"Cloud, I don't need to move a muscle in order to win," Michael replied. "You think in such three-dimensional terms. How small you are, even with the power of a WEAPON! Let me ask you one more thing before we begin our battle. Do you remember what truly made Sephiroth your most dangerous opponent? There were two factors."

"You're going to tell me anyway, so why don't you just go ahead and spit it out?"

Michael grinned. "Telepathy," he said, "and overwhelming force of will."

Every one of Cloud's instincts screamed that now was the most dangerous moment he had ever been in. Michael was about to make his move, and if he didn't kill the man _right now_ Cloud was going to die.

So he moved. Cloud slashed down with the First Tsurugi in a powerful vertical chop, cleaving Michael in two from head to groin, slicing through the First Angel like tissue paper. The sword slammed into the ground, the force of Cloud's strike hurling thousands of tons of wet sand into the air and sending a seismic tremor rippling through the ground all around him.

Before his eyes, Michael shimmered like an image in a heat wave before vanishing completely. _I was never there,_ his voice sounded in Cloud's head.

Everything went dark.

* * *

Nobody in Wutai noticed Cloud's transformation or even the enormous destructive power of either of his attacks. They felt the seismic tremor of the second as only a passing thing, a momentary anomaly at the edge of awareness.

After all, they were being buried alive in a sea of Losts.

The wall, their best line of defense, had been breached almost effortlessly. Now the Losts poured into the city, screaming and wailing. For every one they killed, four more showed up to take its place, and ammunition was running low.

Red XIII was a blur of motion and blazing power, scything through the enemy lines with simultaneous Sled Fangs and attacks from his Thunder Materia. He looked like a red streak that sprouted tendrils of electric death, rushing back and forth and cutting down dozens of Losts with the force of his movement alone.

Further back inside the city, the Turks were helping hold the front. They had been efficient and deadly before the Fall; now, decades of mako treatments and experience had turned them into monstrously powerful fighters. Reno held an electric prod in each hand and sent Lost after Lost literally flying with vicious strikes. Rude was a study in economy of movement, crushing in a skull with a single punch here, snapping a neck with a brutal twist there. Neither of them moved from their stationary positions, letting the Losts batter themselves against the pair like waves on rocks. They were both covered in Lost blood and lacerations, but they seemed unconcerned.

Tseng and Elena stood behind them, each of them with a pistol at their waist and an assault rifle in their hands. Tseng fired precisely, putting three-round bursts between the eyes of Lost after Lost. For her part, Elena was focusing all her attention on a Gravity Materia, crushing multiple Losts into paste with intense magical forces.

Marlene was also with them, firing alongside Tseng. Her shots were not quite as accurate, but she displayed all of her decades' worth of training. Several dozen troops stood directly behind them, all of them opening up as well. "There's no end to this!" she shouted. "We have to fall back to the command center!"

"We hold the line here!" Tseng replied, not even bothering to look at her. "If we let them any further into the city we'll lose control of the situation!"

"We've already lost control!" Marlene snapped. "Even with Denzel and that other freak up front at the wall, they're still letting too many of them slip through!"

"Fall back if you want!" Reno yelled over his shoulder. He ducked a wild bite from a Lost before broadsiding it across the torso with the prod in his left hand. The creature went flying ten feet before landing in a heap, its chest caved in. "We're staying here! If we give up our position on this street we're leaving a major artery to the command center open!"

A light blossomed in the sky, piercing straight through the shroud of rain covering the battleground. All of them stared up at it in awe.

* * *

At the breach in the wall, Denzel and Gabriel were doing their best to hold off the army, but it was not going well.

Denzel cut down Lost after Lost with sweeping blades of force extruded from his hands while keeping up a wall behind him, but there were too many and even he would eventually run out of energy. Maintaining both the blades and the wall was tiring, and the Losts were not simply letting themselves be slaughtered. They leaped at him, attacked him and his wall, slashed and gnawed and slowly but surely drained his life. He barely registered an individual bite or a single laceration, but they were beginning to add up.

Gabriel was having similar difficulties. His problem was that he had never created a unique fighting style like the other members of the Angels because he had never really needed to go into combat before. All he knew how to do was punch and kick things extraordinarily hard and fast, and while that was more than effective against the Losts, there was one of him and thousands of them. He could kill two of them in a second under ideal circumstances, but the Losts were going no easier on him than on Denzel. They piled themselves on top of him, made him waste time throwing them off while their fellows rushed past into the city. If the breach in the wall had been narrower, perhaps he and Denzel would have been much more effective; as it was, they were trying to defend the shore from the ocean with only two shields.

Then the piercing white light bloomed in the sky, a shining beacon of power and majesty. Both of them stared up at it, uncomprehending.

* * *

Michael allowed himself a smile. Soon, all of them would understand.

Soon, all of them would die.


	42. Chapter 42

It became very clear what the light was when it hurled itself back down to earth and landed with an enormous _boom_ at the breach in the wall between Denzel and Gabriel.

Michael was wreathed in white flames that clung to him and flickered wildly as though they were caught in a strong wind. His black jumpsuit was gone, replaced by a white robe, and six pairs of angelic wings sprouted from his back, the largest stretching ten feet out past his arms and the smallest just barely reaching his elbows.

Before either Denzel or Gabriel could do anything, Michael pointed a finger at each of them. Beams of brilliant energy rushed from his fingertips and stabbed into both combatants' chests, persisting and growing in power as Michael concentrated.

Denzel screamed and tried to manifest a wall to get in the way of the radiant spear burning a hole in his very being. With a thought, Michael shattered it; the energy spread throughout Denzel's body and reached a critical point. He exploded into a fine black mist, spraying everywhere and falling to earth in tiny droplets.

Gabriel seemed much more resistant to Michael's attack. Grinding his teeth, he began to plod toward the First Angel, every step harder and more painful than the last. When Denzel exploded, Michael turned his full attention on Gabriel, bringing the other beam around. It also drilled into Gabriel's chest, boiling away layer after layer of JENOVA-disease fluid.

"You can't let him win this easily, Cloud!" Gabriel hissed, still walking toward Michael as though he were leaning into a hurricane, bent and shaking. "His will is powerful, but even Sephiroth's broke at the last! Fight him!"

" _ **Enough of this,"**_ Michael snarled. His eyes flashed; the energy pouring into Gabriel's chest doubled and redoubled.

"You… FAILURE!" Gabriel screamed.

Then he exploded.

Michael let his hands fall to his sides. Standing before the sundered gates of Wutai, he looked into the distance at the pagoda, the command center for the entire defense of the city.

He reached out a hand and pointed at the building.

* * *

"Report!" Rufus demanded from his terminal at the back of the room. "What the hell was that light?"

The upper level of the pagoda had been converted into a command center, complete with communications relays, monitoring equipment, tactical displays, projections – the list went on. The once-spacious room was packed tightly with equipment and the people manning it, lit dimly by the glow of multiple monitors and a single overhead light.

"We have a situation," Reeve replied from where he and his Cait Sith sat at the primary communications panel. "Troops report seeing an _angel_ at the breach."

"You mean one of the Immaculate Swords?"

"I mean, literally, an angel. White robe, wings, everything. It…" Reeve hesitated. "It just vaporized Denzel and Gabriel."

It was impossible for dead silence to fall in the command center because of the whirring and beeping equipment, but all the people abruptly stopped talking.

"They were our primary line of defense now that the wall's down," Rufus growled. "Tell everyone to pull back to the pagoda's plaza. We don't know what we're up against here." Reeve immediately began barking orders into the headset he wore, and the ex-President of Shin-Ra sat back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes. "Cloud, what the hell are you doing?" he muttered.

"The tactical retreat's confirmed," Reeve said. "One last report says the angel's not doing anything. He's just standing there, pointing."

Rufus raised an eyebrow. "At what?"

His question was answered when sparks flew from every exposed wire and every monitor in the room shorted out. The overhead light went dark, and the command center was plunged into darkness. Silence ruled for a moment, and then everyone began to hear horrible creaking sounds coming from all around them.

Cait Sith made a terrified gesture. Reeve bolted out of his chair, an oath on his lips. "Cait Sith's sensors report that the pagoda is _imploding!_ "

Without any visible effort, Rufus threw himself across his console and scooped Reeve up like the man weighed nothing. There was one window in the command center, situated between a pair of monitoring stations. The only thing anyone could see through it was rain. Rufus charged it, jumped, twisted in midair so he hit it back-first. The reinforced plate glass shattered under the force of his impact, and he and Reeve plummeted five stories to the concrete below.

Rufus took the landing with his legs spread. He pounded a pair of craters into the stone beneath them where his feet hit, but he stayed upright, distributing the impact evenly throughout his mako-enhanced body. Reeve gave a sharp gasp and swore again, but otherwise seemed fine.

Before their eyes, the pagoda was ripped up from its foundations and all eighty feet of it were inexorably crushed into a tiny pebble by an invisible force. Some of the people inside tried taking Rufus's way out and jump; they landed nearby with sickening _thud_ s and cracks. The rest, who either were rooted to their spots in terror or tried to take the stairs, died screaming.

The pebble dropped to the ground in front of Rufus, making a disproportionately loud sound.

"Thanks," Reeve said, letting Rufus put him down.

"I put you at the closest communications station for a reason," Rufus replied, rubbing at his shaking legs. Even for his body, five stories had been a stretch. "I never thought we'd get attacked like that, though. All our communications, wiped out in an instant." He turned to face the destroyed wall, watching the scattered remains of his and the Protectorate's armies moving through the streets back toward the plaza.

"What do we do now?" Reeve asked.

"We wait for everyone who's still defending the city to rendezvous with us here," Rufus replied.

"And then?"

The ex-President's lip twitched. "And then we make our final stand."

* * *

Red XIII felt Michael's presence before he saw the First Angel. He ripped his teeth free of another Lost's throat and bared them in the direction of the baleful aura he detected, every sense on high alert.

Then he heard Denzel and Gabriel screaming. He did some quick calculations, estimated how far he might get, then turned and ran as fast as he could back to where Marlene and the Turks were holding out. The scents of blood and battle assaulted his delicate nose as he skidded through back alleys and side streets, trying to avoid the main flow of Losts so he could make a more expeditious retreat.

The streets around him seemed to lighten, and Red XIII looked up to see Michael hovering over him, effortlessly matching his breakneck pace without seeming to move a muscle.

" _ **I see no reason to kill you,"**_ Michael said. _**"We both have the Planet's well-being at heart. Won't you stand down and join me?"**_

"Hardly," Red XIII growled between panting breaths as he ran. "I don't know what you _actually_ have at heart, but it is not the well-being of the Planet or anyone except yourself. If you're going to kill me, get it over with."

Michael shrugged before pointing a finger at the beast. Red XIII gritted his teeth and prepared himself for oblivion.

Nothing happened. He nearly slammed into the side of a building before he realized he was still alive and moving. Confused, Red XIII skidded to a halt and turned to look at Michael. The First Angel was twisting in midair, clutching at his head. _**"Stop**_ **fighting** _ **me! You heard him! He**_ **wants** _ **to die!"**_

A flash of insight struck Red XIII. Cloud was in Michael's mind or at least joined with him in some fashion, and he was fighting. He needed to get back to command and report this; it could be their only hope.

Michael, however, had a different idea. Through the haze of pain and resistance obscuring his senses, he began wildly hurling bolts of focused power. Red XIII dodged two of them, and they exploded against the concrete beneath his feet, leaving craters larger than a man. He ducked under another, which blew an enormous hole in the building behind him; a second shot through the hole and detonated inside. The entire structure teetered and then collapsed right on top of Red XIII, burying him in thousands of pounds of rubble.

Michael grinned as he heard a cry inside his mind and he forced the aberrant person-entity there under control. _**"That's three,"**_ he said to nobody in particular.

* * *

The pagoda's plaza was filled to the brim with troops, most of them wounded. Many of them would be Losts by noon if they lived that long.

Those with the least severe wounds and the most ammo formed living roadblocks at each of the six access points to the plaza, gunning down the endless stream of Losts. Every time someone had to stop and reload, every time a Lost defied the odds and got close enough to make them break ranks and focus on it, the tide of death inched closer.

"There's nowhere to go from here except the underground cistern!" Rufus shouted to Reeve. They stood as part of one of the roadblocks, gunning down Losts alongside the infantry. There was nothing else for them to do, now. "And, of course, that's where we evacuated the civilian populace to! If we retreat there, we'll be leading the Losts straight to them!"

Reeve nodded, reloading his gun with aged and shaking fingers. He remembered when he had been able to fire an assault rifle without pain from the recoil shooting through his body. Those had been better times.

One of the Losts got through the hail of bullets. It leapt forward, sank its teeth into the throat of the man crouching right in front of Reeve. The soldier expired with a harsh, wet gurgle; almost casually, Reeve swung his gun down and put three bullets in the Lost's skull. The two corpses slumped to the ground together, and while still firing he reached into the soldier's backpack and withdrew some more ammo clips.

He felt nothing. When had the deaths of his fellow men become a statistic to him, even as they happened right in front of him? Dying had never seemed this real when he was young. Soaked to the bone by the rain, covered in other people's blood, he kept firing. It was all he could do.

"I think we have bigger problems than just the Losts!" Marlene yelled from farther back in the roadblock. "Look!"

Reeve had Cait Sith look at her while he continued to fire. He didn't need to be able to see to hit something; the Losts were swarming that fast and thick. The visual feed from the automaton told him Marlene was pointing at something up in the sky.

Michael descended from above, resplendent with a radiance that seemed to emanate from every fiber of his being. He reached out his hands, palms up, as though benevolently welcoming the huddled and dying soldiers into his embrace. A barrier went up around the plaza, walling it off from the sea of Losts that now surrounded it on every side. The screams of the monsters faded to a dull roar, and for a moment it seemed as though everything was going to be all right. The ragged remnants of the armies stared up at Michael, eyes wide. Some fell to their knees and prayed, while others shouted thanks, weeping. The First Angel wore a beatific smile of perfect composure and peace.

Then he hurled a sphere of annihilation down into the crowd of people, trapped by the barriers he had put up. The orb of absolute black swept in complete silence into the center of the plaza and consumed everyone there, expanding out at the edges and eating up everyone that was not posted at a roadblock. It left a perfect half-spherical crater, and suddenly the underground cistern was visible from the sky.

Michael clenched his fists. The stone of the plaza warped, twisting and stretching until it had reached across the crater and covered it up completely. Then he descended, spiraling down until his feet floated just above the ground.

" _ **That water will go a long way toward rejuvenating this Planet,"**_ Michael said in a booming voice. _**"I would not have your blood pollute it."**_

"OPEN FIRE!" Rufus bellowed. Every last human being in the plaza snapped up a rifle or pistol or grabbed a grenade or just a rock and opened up. A wall of bullets and other projectiles closed in on Michael from all sides, a literal hailstorm of death thicker than the sheets of rain pouring from the sky.

Before any of it could touch him, it all went up in flames. Bullets melted and then exploded in midair, grenades went off, and the ground beneath Michael bubbled and glowed bright red. Then a chorus of screams and cries went up when all the guns began to melt as well, turning orange with heat in people's hands.

" _ **You are beaten,"**_ Michael told them. _**"Surrender, pledge your loyalty to me with all your heart, and you will be spared."**_

Nobody said anything until Marlene, her palms blistered from her gun turning to molten metal in her hands, yelled, "Screw you!"

Michael sighed. _**"If that is how you wish it. You are the last dissident faction. Let this mark the end of a fifty-year Fall… and the beginning of a new, glorious rise to power."**_

The barriers around the plaza went down.

The Losts, who had been gathered so densely that they were practically piled against the walls of force, spilled into the now-defenseless contingents, screaming with glee. Michael tilted his head, listening to the shouts and cries of the dying. He thought he could pick out a pattern in the sounds, a thread of order where there seemed to be nothing but chaos. The idea brought a smile to his lips.

He raised his face to the raining heavens as humanity's last hope died all around him.

* * *

Cloud was back in the basement of the Shin-Ra Manor.

He was strapped down to the table, naked, screaming as shadows circled him, tracing long furrows in his flesh with icy, sharp protrusions. He couldn't see, couldn't think, all he knew was pain and constraint and that he wanted to die but could not. His wounds did not bleed; the shadows cut him and left no marks, lacerating his mind instead of his body. From all around a presence pressed in on him, crushing him against the table, a leaden weight called _Michael._

His throat was raw from screaming for help, screaming for somebody, _anybody_ to free him or just let him die, but nobody could hear him. He was a million miles underground, sealed in by thick, cruel walls, and nobody could hear him. Even if they could, they wouldn't care. He'd heard Gabriel's cry, as though from a great distance, calling him a failure.

And the boy had been right. He had played right into Michael's hands. He had given the First Angel everything he needed to enslave humanity and reshape the world in his own image. It was his fault. He would die alone, uncared for and unforgiven.

_Stop that._

Cloud blinked. _What?_

 _I told you to stop thinking that way,_ a voice chided him. _Honestly. After all the progress we made. I guess you took two steps back for every step forward._

_Tifa?_

_Close. Tifa's here, but she's not the only one. There_ are _people who care, Cloud. We can help you, now, if you'll just ask._

_That's all? All I had to do was ask?_

_Of_ course _that's all you had to do. It's just that you were so busy wallowing in guilt and self-recrimination that you forgot it's that simple. You're as bad as Vincent sometimes._

_I just…_

_Needing help and being human isn't a sin, Cloud. Just let go of your pride, trust that this isn't your fault and that we'll forgive you for whatever is, and let us help you. If you don't, everyone left who we care about will die too._

Cloud closed his eyes, the shadows ripping at his soul suddenly seeming less terrible.

"All right," he whispered, his throat hoarse. "I can't do it alone, and I'm sorry for that. So…

"Will you help me?"

* * *

Michael screamed.

The sound was almost lost amidst the chaos of battle, but Marlene heard it. Bleeding from half a dozen serious wounds, all of them covered in Lost blood, she sank her knife deep into one of the eyes of the creature currently assaulting her. It shrank back, crying hideously and clutching at its face, giving her the opening she needed to fade back and look at the First Angel.

Power leaked from him in waves. White flames seethed off him and curled around his feet, and random bolts of what looked like lightning flashed out and split the air around him. His wings exploded in a bright flash, and the white robe ripped apart at the seams, leaving only a tattered black jumpsuit beneath it.

The leaking energy formed itself into a humanoid shape, creating contours and edges that quickly resolved into recognizable shapes – spiky blonde hair, an enormous sword. Cloud gasped, like an enormous weight had just been lifted off of him, but his regained power did not stop there. It kept spreading, forming other luminescent shapes surrounding Michael, who had fallen to one knee, panting, his eyes crazed.

A shapely woman with fists defiantly raised. An enormous, muscular man with a gun instead of a right arm. A slender man wielding a polearm, a mote of light near his mouth that might be a cigarette.

Cloud's WEAPON energy coalesced into the forms of people he had known. Tifa Lockhart, Barret Wallace, Cid Highwind… and that was only the beginning. Out of the crackling lightning and white flame came Vincent Valentine and Yuffie Kisaragi, the former restored to his human form and the latter looking as though she had never aged a day past eighteen. A flash of pink, the sound of a ribbon fluttering, and Aerith Gainsborough appeared, staff in hand, next to them.

"Long time no see, country boy," a voice came from behind Cloud. He turned, not sure if he could believe what was happening – even if he was the cause of it all, even if it was his power.

Zack Fair strode forward and clapped the blonde on the shoulder. He wore the Buster Sword and a wide grin. "Glad you finally decided to come to your senses, bud."

Cloud stared at the shimmering, ephemeral forms of his friends. "This… my power… are you real?"

"Real as the stupid look on yer face, Spikey," Cid drawled. "You think the Planet would jes' let valuable assets like us get recycled, born again as insects or some shit like that? It kept us around in case yer dumb ass ever needed help!"

Still disbelieving, Cloud looked at Tifa. "It was you all the time," he said. "But not just _you._ All of you. You were who I saw when I learned _kànderén_ , and got attacked by Raphael…"

"We couldn't let you wander around without any help at all," Tifa told him, a smile lighting up her face.

"Now's not the time for happy reunions, though," Aerith interjected. "We still have a battle to fight."

"There's eight of us," Barret said. "Six ways in. I call the one with Marlene."

"That leaves two of us to deal with Michael," Cloud said. "I'll be one of them."

Vincent stepped forward, Cerberus in his hand, but Yuffie laid a hand on his arm. "I think we'd better leave this one to the sword guys," she whispered.

He gave her a stoic look that quickly softened into a small smile.

"Then I guess I'm the other one," Zack said, pulling the Buster Sword from his back. "I can't let this fake walk around making everyone think I'm evil, after all. I'd like to think I'm a pretty decent guy."

"We'll make it through this!" Cloud declared. On a whim, he glanced at Zack's Buster Sword and made the First Tsurugi appear solid to match it. "Now – move out!"

Tifa, Barret, Cid, Vincent, Yuffie, and Aerith all broke formation, each of them running toward a different entry point to the plaza where the few remaining troops were quickly losing ground to the onslaught of Losts. Cloud and Zack stood, swords ready, in front of Michael, who was still down on one knee.

"Ready whenever you are," Zack called to him.

In response, Michael got to his feet, head still bowed. He held out his left hand. Reality twisted and warped, black lightning crackled along a line in space, and Michael held a Masamune forged of pure annihilation. A single wing made from the same essence stretched from his right shoulder blade.

"I think this is appropriate," he said in a perfectly flat voice. "It's your loss, though. Dividing your power up like this to manifest multiple consciousnesses means my superior will cannot affect you, but it means I can fight every one of you at this level… and I am stronger."

"That's a price we're willing to pay," Cloud replied. "After all, I think we all agree that doing things alone makes it all much harder."

Michael swung his sword into an en-garde position, chuckled. "How very human of you to say that, Cloud. But if you insist on having it this way, I cannot protest." The mirth vanished from his voice and he looked up for the first time, eyes cold with deadly intent.

"Come. I will deny everything that you are."


	43. Chapter 43

At the breach in the walls of Wutai where a gate had once stood, the ground was covered in fine specks of black.

They radiated out from two distinct points of origin, spattered randomly in every direction. A cursory glance would not detect any movement, but a closer examination would reveal the slightest hint of life in their tiny, dark forms.

Though a normal observer would not be able to tell, the two specks that tentatively made contact first were from different points of origin. Upon initially encountering the other, one of the specks extruded a proboscis, thinner than a strand of hair, and reached out with it to touch its new neighbor. The other speck responded with a similar proboscis, winding it around the first.

Slowly, carefully, the two specks propelled themselves into one another, joining at the deepest and most basic levels. Where there had been two specks, there was now a somewhat larger one.

A shudder went through all the other points of black. They began moving toward the one that had once been two, picking up speed as they went, until a great wave of roiling darkness surged forward and engulfed the product of their fellows' union.

Now there was one where there had been many. The bubbling liquid rose into a humanoid form and began to take on features, seemingly changing into solid flesh. Out of the chaos that had been the specks emerged a young human, or at least what looked like one. An observer might think it was no more than sixteen or seventeen. It had pale skin, short, slicked-back black hair, thin, bloodless lips, an angular jaw, a slightly pointed nose, and wide, staring eyes. It was naked, and its form was lean and muscular, notably lacking any reproductive organs or other gender-specific body parts.

There was nothing in its eyes but blackness. No whites, irises, or pupils were visible; all that stared out at the world was a void.

"I am Raguel," it said to the dead surrounding it. "And there is much that needs to be set right."

* * *

Marlene felt the pain of her wounds begin to overwhelm her. Next to her, Reeve was wrestling with a Lost, Cait Sith barely managing to keep the creature's mouth away from his throat, but she was bleeding out and her vision was blurring and her knees were collapsing out from under her.

She heard a scream as a Lost decided to take advantage of the situation. It rushed at her, ducking under a wild swing from Rufus, who was putting up a hell of a fight with his bare hands, pushing his mako-enhanced body to its limits. Through the haze, she saw its bared fangs, its mouth opening as it closed in…

A boiling, green ball of energy rushed past within inches of her and hit the Lost full-on, disintegrating it mid-leap.

"You all right, Marlene?" a very familiar voice boomed. Marlene felt a heavy hand on her shoulder, and rejuvenating energy rushed through her. She felt her wounds closing, her blood replenishing, and – though she could not say how – the toxins of the Losts flowing through her veins evaporate. It was as though she had never been injured. Confused, she looked down at herself, realized that the wrinkled skin on her arms had firmed up. Her legs no longer ached. It was as though years had been taken off of her.

Looking over her shoulder, she could not contain a gasp when she saw Barret standing there, a wide grin on his face. His ephemeral form glowed brightly in the downpour. "Looks like I got here just in time," he laughed. His face softened. "You've really grown."

"Dad," Marlene whispered.

Barret nodded, then snapped up his gun-arm and opened fire. He might have been half-ethereal, but his bullets were definitely not when he needed them to be. They ripped through the Losts even as they passed harmlessly through the few surviving humans. The first Lost he shot was the one tearing at Reeve. "Stay with me, buddy!" he shouted, reaching out with his free hand and hauling the ex-leader of the Protectorate to his feet. A soothing green radiance suffused Reeve's form.

Even as Marlene watched, the old man's wounds healed up, and he was no longer an old man. The cataracts retreated from his eyes – which once again held his gentle brown irises – and the grey fled from his beard and hair until there was just a fraction of it left at his temples. His skin tightened, his frame straightened, and Marlene could see him filling out the uniform he wore.

"It's not possible," Reeve breathed.

"Stop standin' there like a retard an' fall back!" Barret snapped. "I'll hold this place. Go on now!"

Still firing, he kept moving forward until he stood next to Rufus, who had not stopped fighting to stare at him as Marlene and Reeve had. "I see Cloud had something up his sleeve after all," Rufus commented.

"You betcher ass! Now fall back into the plaza, I got this!" Barret patted Rufus on the shoulder, and a less powerful glow rushed along the President's body. His wounds healed, but his physical appearance did not change.

"Understood. It's good to see you again, Barret."

"Jus' be glad Cloud's tole us 'bout all you done since we been gone," Barret said. "Fifty years ago I wouldn'a saved yer sorry hide fer all the money in Edge."

"Things change, old friend," Rufus observed as he headed back toward the center of the plaza. "Things change."

* * *

As the various members of AVALANCHE took up positions around the plaza, the remaining soldiers and other personnel fell back toward the center. From the air, it looked like the plaza was surrounded by six shining beacons, each holding back an entire horde of darkness.

It looked that way to Cloud, Zack, and Michael, because they were two hundred feet in the air and climbing.

The First Angel rushed back and forth, lashing out with vicious strokes of his annihilation Masamune and whirling through the air on his beating black wing. Cloud and Zack took the strikes on their swords, the energy of the Planet standing up to the sheer negative force of Michael's will. The trio hurled themselves higher and higher into the air, rising on their power, rapidly approaching the clouds.

Michael brought his sword around in a sweeping horizontal strike that both Cloud and Zack had to block. He pressed his sword against theirs, his weapon resembling a hole of pure nothingness hammered into the shape of an instrument of death. "This is your last chance!" he urged them. "Acknowledge my superiority, give me your power, and I will let your consciousnesses live on within my own!"

"Go to hell," Cloud said. He exchanged a glance with Zack, and both of them shoved Michael's sword back with a Blade Beam. Their swords spat twin blades of bluish-white energy that pushed Michael away, burning out against the rippling blackness of his Masamune.

Michael made no reply. A snarl twisting his face, he raised his sword above his head. From thirty feet away, he brought it down in a chop. His blade seemed to cleave itself in two along its edge, a crescent of darkness detaching from his Masamune and hurling itself at Cloud in a sort of annihilation Blade Beam. Cloud brought up the First Tsurugi in a block, but Michael's Blade Beam worked differently than his own. Instead of expending all its energy in one explosive burst when it hit Cloud's sword, it kept pressing against him, never seeming to lose any power. Surprise swept through Cloud as his arms began to buckle with the strain of warding off the attack, and dread followed as Michael rushed forward, his sword stretched out in a thrust.

Zack rose up from below. He hurled the Buster Sword at what Cloud had chosen to refer to as the Annihilation Beam. The massive weapon struck the crescent and deflected it just enough that Cloud could shove it away without being laid open. At the same time, Zack rushed Michael with his bare hands, deftly avoiding the stabbing point of the Masamune to smash the First Angel across the face with a lightning-fast punch.

Michael was pushed away from Zack and stopped rising, so Cloud and Zack halted their respective ascents as well. He lifted his free hand to his face, felt where Zack had imbedded his fist. "You _hit_ me," he said, appalled.

Zack shrugged. "I hit Sephiroth, too, and he didn't seem that pissed about it. He might have been too busy going on about how I was a traitor and trying to kill me, but still." Without glancing back at his weapon, he extended a hand, and the Buster Sword flew into his grasp seemingly of its own accord.

Michael said nothing more. He raised his sword again, and both Cloud and Zack knew what he was about to do. Zack struck out with another Blade Beam and Cloud charged forward, thrusting the First Tsurugi in a Climhazzard. A flash of irritation showing on his face, Michael brought his sword around in a quick riposte to deflect the Blade Beam, leaving himself wide open for Cloud's strike. An instant before the First Tsurugi could strike home, however, the First Angel's wing curled around in front of him and took the blow. Cloud's sword went off-course and struck wide; he blundered right into a retaliatory kick from Michael that snapped his head back and sent him tumbling.

"I told you I could use the power of the Ancients without needing any Materia," Michael said, beginning to rise again. "That, of course, includes powers that you have never seen because no Materia exist to channel them. Focusing annihilation itself into a weapon is one such technique. All the Materia for it were destroyed because of its horrible potential – namely, the negation of reality itself. The fact that you two can stand up to it attests to the strength of the Planet."

"What's your point?" Cloud demanded. "Do you have one, or are you just stalling for time?"

Michael ignored him. "Still, there was one thing I could never do without the requisite Materia, no matter how much effort I put into it or how intensely I concentrated. I wanted this power to complement my final victory, so I took the necessary steps and retrieved its Materia. Would you care to guess what that is?"

"Being able to shut up for five minutes?" Zack laughed. "Seriously, Cloud, this guy is so full of hot air he's…" He trailed off when he saw the look on his friend's face. Cloud's eyes were wide, his lips parted slightly. "What?"

"He knows," Michael sneered. "Oh, yes, he understands now."

"Cloud, what is it?"

Before Cloud could reply, their ascent took them up through the clouds and into a blood-red sky. This was not the color of an early morning sunrise; this was a terrible, omnipresent glow, and it came from directly above them.

Meteor hung over them.

"How?" Cloud asked. "Holy destroyed it!"

"Holy destroyed _a_ Meteor," Michael replied. "There always exists the possibility of summoning another."

"But the Black Materia vanished when Sephiroth cast the spell!"

"It fell into the center of the Planet. It took me a long time and a lot of effort, but I eventually managed to retrieve it. Where there is a will, there is a way, and you know the strength of _my_ will."

"Why?" Zack demanded. "I remember when Aerith called the Lifestream up to repel Meteor long enough for Holy to blow it up. It would have destroyed the world if she hadn't done that!"

"I don't intend to actually _use_ this power unless all else fails," Michael said. "As I told Cloud, I intend to watch over this Planet and its people as their god. Meteor will be a deterrent, insurance against anything that could possibly destroy me – including the Planet itself."

"You're even more insane than I thought," Cloud breathed.

"You're also very, very stupid," a new voice said from behind Michael. Startled, the First Angel whirled, bringing his Masamune around to bisect whoever had managed to sneak up behind him.

Genesis Rhapsodos expertly parried the blow with his rapier before blasting Michael in the face with a point-blank Firaga powerful enough to level a building. A moment later, Weiss the Immaculate rushed past his partner and slashed into the First Angel with his twin sword-revolvers, Heaven and Earth. Cloud and Zack wasted no time wondering how the other two men had arrived, but instead exchanged a glance and got ready.

Michael planted a foot in Weiss's gut, sending the man flying back, just in time for Cloud and Zack to lay into him with a combined True Omnislash. The two of them shot back and forth, cutting at Michael over and over with the different blades of the First Tsurugi and the wicked edge of the Buster Sword, leaving deep, crimson lacerations in his flesh.

With a scream, the First Angel vanished into a puff of black feathers and smoke and reappeared a few dozen feet away, bleeding from head to toe and looking very surprised.

"How did you two get here?" he screeched, his control finally beginning to slip.

"You're not the only one who can use the power of the Ancients," Genesis replied.

"Go back to your pods! This isn't your fight!"

"Oh, I think it is," Weiss said, but it was not the Weiss that anyone who knew him would remember. A dark flame burned behind his eyes, piercing whatever he looked at. He was not just Weiss; he was also Nero the Sable.

"Weiss – or Nero, whichever you prefer – is correct," Genesis said. "We are the guardians of the Planet itself. This – not-WEAPON – who used to be Cloud alone but is now the amalgamation of eight different people, is the guardian of humanity. As long as you were only a threat to the existence of humankind, this would not have been our fight." His eyes glittered. "That changed when you summoned Meteor again, you foolish little boy."

Michael gave an inarticulate roar. "SHUT UP! I am not the pathetic whelp you beat in Deepground all those years ago, Genesis! I am Michael, the First Angel!"

"A title and name you stole for yourself from ancient religious texts that are hardly even known today, no doubt appealing to you because they are so cryptic and dry," Genesis sneered. He looked at Cloud. "'There is no hate, only joy/For you are beloved by the Goddess/Hero of the dawn, healer of worlds.'" He turned his gaze to Michael. "'Dreams of the morrow hath shattered the soul/Pride is lost/Wings stripped away, the end is nigh.'" He closed his eyes and smiled. "LOVELESS, Act Two."

"I HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF LOVELESS!" Michael screamed, and struck out in an Annihilation Beam.

A black streak flashed in front of the crescent. The streak resolved itself into what looked like a young man or woman wearing a black suit; it reached out and touched the Annihilation Beam with its right index finger and the attack vanished.

Cloud gaped. "Who are you?"

The figure turned to face him. At first, he thought its eye sockets were empty, but a closer look revealed that the newcomer did indeed have eyes; they were solid black. It wore a suit jacket and slacks, both black, as well as leather gloves and shoes of the same color. The collared shirt beneath the jacket was a deep crimson, and the tie carefully secured in a half-Windsor at its throat was black with a single red stripe bisecting it down its center. Cloud stared at the figure, but he couldn't tell whether it was a man or woman.

"I am Raguel," it replied. "If titles are as important to you as they are to him –" it motioned at Michael – "you may call me the ∅ Angel."

Zack blinked. While he had never been good with math, he knew enough about it to recognize null when he saw it. What was surprising was that he actually _saw_ the symbol as Raguel said it. The entity did not pronounce it aloud; he said what could only be called a word of power and emblazoned the symbol in the minds of those around him.

"The Null Angel?" Cloud repeated back at it, confused. "You mean Zero?"

"∅ and Zero are distinct," Raguel replied. "I am not a cardinal angel; I am beyond them. I came into being when the Second and Fifth Angels, on the verge of death because of the First's actions, bonded together in order to ensure their mutual survival."

"…Denzel?"

"The entities known as Denzel and Gabriel no longer exist as you knew them," Raguel said. "You are an amalgamation of eight different people, but all of your consciousnesses and personalities are distinct, even when in a single form. It is not so with me."

Outraged, Cloud looked past Raguel at Michael, who was still rallying from the massive amount of damage he had taken in the surprise assault. "You _bastard_ ," he hissed. "This is your fault."

"How was I supposed to know?" Michael protested. "I never anticipated this – thing!"

"Of course you did not," Raguel said to him. "Your vision was so grand that it eclipsed your sight. Rather than instantly crush Cloud's mind with your sheer force of will, you kept his consciousness trapped within your own so you could torture him. This allowed him to call on his friends from the Lifestream and subvert your control.

"You knew full well that Genesis and Weiss would ignore you if you only threatened humanity, but in your arrogance you thought to hold the Planet hostage and so summoned Meteor, drawing their attention.

"Finally, you killed Denzel and Gabriel sloppily, in an unnecessary show of power. All these mistakes have now come back to haunt you, Michael. You would have stood a chance solely against this not-WEAPON in its divided state, or solely against Genesis and Weiss… but not both of them."

Michael sneered, but the expression was half-hearted. "And what about you? Think I couldn't stand a chance against you, do you?"

Raguel shook its head. "You would not. I am what you were supposed to be, Michael. I am the superior being you always claimed to be – the first true uplifted."

"And what is your intent, 'superior being?'" Genesis asked. Weiss floated forward, liquid darkness rippling around him, but Genesis waved him back. "Let him speak."

"I intend to rectify the mistake of our existence," Raguel said, motioning to itself and Michael. "The texts Michael has no doubt quoted to Cloud speak of a third Force aside from Men and Weapons, a Force of beings that are composed of Nothing, a Force that should not even exist." Raguel's empty, unblinking eyes narrowed. "I am both the last and the first of the uplifteds, their beginning and their end. I am here because of him, so he is part of the mistake. I will take him with me, and we will leave this world. I do not know where we will go, but eventually we will arrive there… and perhaps we will find peace."

"Do you know what he's done?" Cloud asked. "Do you know how many people he's killed and how many lives he's ruined? He is pure evil and we have to kill him!"

Raguel spread its hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Please. Has there not been enough violence already? For a completely new form of life, you are certainly set in the ways of humankind."

"He has to die!" Cloud shouted. "He killed Vincent and made Yuffie betray everyone she ever loved! If you're going to get in my way I'll kill you too!"

"Cloud…" Zack tried.

"Don't try to talk me out of it, Zack! I'll say it one last time – move it or die!"

Raguel looked at him and showed, for the first time, the barest hint of an emotion. The corners of its mouth turned down in a sad frown. "Do not mistake me, Cloud, please. I said Denzel and Gabriel are not discrete consciousnesses within me, but they are not mere components in an automaton. I _am_ them. I remember Denzel's love and admiration for you just as vividly as I remember Gabriel's hatred of Michael and the cold of the lab and the cruel, probing needles. I loathe Michael as much as you do, if not more, but this is how it must be."

It saw Cloud's anger beginning to wane and pressed on. "Michael must have spoken to you about the differences between humans, WEAPONs, and uplifteds. Well, just as you are a fusion of humanity and WEAPONs, so am I a fusion of WEAPONs and the uplifteds. I did not choose this life; it was chosen for me when the remains of Denzel and Gabriel fused together. I did not invent a purpose for myself; as soon as I _was_ , I knew what I had to do. I am not even ten minutes old, and I already have the infinity and purpose of a WEAPON. I do not belong to the Planet, nor am I single-minded and incapable of making choices, but I am not and never have been a human being. Therefore, while you are one… _concept_ , I am your opposite – but that is not necessarily a bad or sinister thing. We are merely two opposites existing in one universe."

Reluctance still showing in his expression, Cloud lowered the First Tsurugi. "I'm still not sure if this is the right thing to do… but if you really feel like leaving and taking him with you is your purpose, Raguel, who am I to say no? He'll still be paying for his crimes, in a way."

Raguel nodded. "It is my purpose, I feel, to try to redeem him. I doubt I will ever succeed, but nobody ever said that one's purpose must have an end."

Michael began to laugh. It started as a small chuckle, but it quickly grew into a full-blown, utterly insane screeching that had him gasping in between heaves. "Listen to all of you!" Michael roared, tears of mirth streaming from his eyes. "Sitting in judgment of me, discussing purpose and _concept_ and how it doesn't have to end with violence! All this, when I am standing here in control of the Ultimate Destructive Magic! With one _thought_ I can have Meteor crash into this miserable world and eliminate everyone and everything in it. There is no Holy to save your precious Planet this time!"

He leveled his annihilation Masamune at them and grinned, his laughter fading away. "I'd rather die than be dragged across the cosmos by a deranged child with delusions of purpose and grandeur! If I cannot become a god, then I will take all of you with me!"

Meteor began to fall.

"We can't let this happen!" Zack said.

"No shit!" Cloud replied. "But we don't have Holy, and in order for the Lifestream to repel Meteor it actually needs to get close to the Planet, which we don't want."

"The only way to stop the Ultimate Destructive Magic," Raguel said, "is to get Michael to dismiss it."

Zack looked at Michael, who was staring up at their impending doom and once again laughing insanely. "We're screwed."

Weiss spoke up. "Michael has control of the spell," he said. "Only he can dismiss it. However, he does not necessarily need to dismiss it of his own free will."

Michael abruptly stopped laughing. "Do you really think you can force me into doing something against my will?" he asked. "Not a one of you can match my force of will. Not a _one_."

Cloud smiled. "Well, it's a good thing there's five of us, then."

Michael realized his mistake just as Cloud, Zack, Genesis, Weiss, and Raguel surged forward and grabbed him. They all put a hand on Michael's head and closed their eyes.

* * *

AVALANCHE had been killing Losts for ten minutes and there was still no end to the creatures.

Not that any of the six were concerned, of course. They were part energy, part gods, and all power; the creatures had no chance of hurting them. The survivors from the Protectorate and Wutai armies had been moved back to the center of the plaza as each member of AVALANCHE single-handedly held an entrance to the area.

They all suddenly gazed up at the sky in one movement, still fighting Losts without even having to look. In the center of the plaza, Reeve, Marlene, Rufus, and the Turks all looked up as well, not exactly sure what they were looking for but curious about what their friends saw.

It became clear in just a moment, as Cloud and Zack broke through the still-raining clouds, two beacons of light in a dark and murky world. Immediately following them came Genesis and Weiss, who held an apparently unconscious Michael between them. Last came an unfamiliar figure dressed in a suit. They descended serenely, landing in the center of the plaza amongst the hundred or so survivors of the battle.

"Think it's time to end this?" Cloud asked Zack.

"I do," Zack said.

They began to glow even brighter, and the rest of AVALANCHE disappeared, becoming wisps of light that coursed through the air back to the two swordsmen. Three went to Cloud and three went to Zack, who themselves dissipated into light and unified into one pulsing, blindingly radiant humanoid mass of energy.

No longer held back by the various members of AVALANCHE, the Losts poured into the plaza, shrieking with feral glee, and ran straight toward their death.

The being that was both one and many went nova. It exploded out of the plaza, consuming all the Losts there and reducing them to ashes, and swept over Wutai. When the light faded, only Cloud stood where it had once been, still ephemeral and illuminated by his own energy.

Red XIII was lying on the ground next to him, seemingly asleep. After a moment of stunned silence, the beast opened his good eye and looked up at Cloud, who smiled down at him, eyes aglow with power.

"What did I miss?" Red XIII murmured.


	44. Chapter 44

The party sat in the den of Rufus's mansion, one of the few structures that had been relatively undamaged in the Battle of Wutai. Cloud stood in front of Rufus, who sat in his favorite armchair. In chairs on either side of Rufus sat Marlene and Reeve, both of whom looked decades younger than they had the night before. Curled up at Marlene's feet was Red XIII, watching Cloud with his good eye. Behind Cloud, Raguel, Genesis, and Weiss made the three points of a triangle around Michael, who stood with his head bowed, the knowledge of his defeat plain on his face. The Turks were out in the city, conducting cleanup operations.

In the aftermath, the populace and the Protectorate refugees had emerged from the underground reservoir, returning to their homes and their lives… mostly. There were some whose homes had been destroyed, it was true, but they were offered shelter elsewhere until they could get back on their feet. Something else had changed, though, something much deeper and more fundamental than a few buildings falling.

The Losts were gone. The disease, the bane of humanity for half a century, had been erased.

In less than a minute.

When Cloud had gone up in a nova of light in the plaza, it had not just swept across Wutai and consumed the Losts there. His power had kept expanding, rushing over the surface of the world, infusing every nook and cranny with its penetrating light, and everywhere it had found a Lost it had taken vengeance.

Rufus took a long sip of brandy. "What happens next?"

"Whatever you want," Cloud replied in a voice that was his own and seven others'.

Putting down his glass, Rufus steepled his fingers, looking hard at Cloud. "Would you mind… being different people? Talking to you like this is strange."

The blonde shrugged. His glow diminished, points of light bled from him, and where there had been one person there were now eight.

"So, whatcha wanna know?" Cid drawled, sucking on a cigarette that might have been real.

"The world is really cleansed of Losts?" Rufus asked.

"We got no reason to lie to ya 'bout it. When we went apeshit in the plaza, we did 'em all in."

Rufus sighed. "Humanity does this to itself, struggles with the consequences for fifty years, and it's all made better in one day by a WEAPON. We should just let the Planet make all our decisions for us from now on."

"The Planet didn't make Cloud a WEAPON to rule," Aerith said in her quiet voice. "It's not interested in adjudication. What we did was our own decision – a human one, at that."

"So you're saying," Rufus murmured, "all that happened was AVALANCHE saving the world… again."

"Pretty much, yeah," Tifa said.

The President of Wutai sat back in his chair and rubbed at his temples. "Sometimes I wonder why I even try."

"Look at it this way," Zack spoke up. "This is the last time it'll happen. Now will be _your_ chance to shine as protector of the Planet."

"Really?" Michael sneered at his double's back. "This will be the last time? I somehow doubt all of you can just sit there with the power at your command and stand idly by as humanity continues to suffer from its own hubris and ignorance."

"You're right," Cloud agreed. "We can't. And that's why we have to leave, too."

The sound of Marlene choking on her own drink was very loud in the resulting silence. Red XIII, however, nodded as Marlene coughed noisily into her hand. "I thought you would say that," he said.

"Leave? For where?" Reeve demanded, looking concerned.

Aerith held up a hand. "Not all of us are going to go, Reeve. We became this way, joined with Cloud, because he couldn't fight Michael's will alone. However, everyone in our group consciousness is distinct – one and many at the same time. Unlike Raguel's personality, with its inextricable Denzel and Gabriel components, we can go back to being individual entities at any time. One or two of us will leave; the rest will return to the Planet."

"Even if most of you are staying – returning – whatever it is you're doing… where will whoever's leaving end up?"

Cloud shrugged. "I don't know where I'll go. Just that I will."

"Why you, Cloud?" Marlene asked, looking distraught.

"The Planet chose me for this power," Cloud replied. "I don't think anybody but me should need to bear the responsibility."

At that, Tifa stepped forward and clucked her tongue significantly. "I think," she said, "you should let people make up their own minds about that sort of thing. They might have ideas about whether or not they want to share a burden with the man they married." She held up her left hand, a shining ring on her finger. "Or did you forget?"

Cloud raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"

Tifa put her hands on her hips. "Cloud Strife, I didn't wait for decades in limbo with nobody to talk to but Cid –"

"I resent that!" the old pilot barked.

"– to stand back and watch you try to do everything yourself again," she finished.

A genuine, warm smile lit Cloud's face. "I appreciate it, Tifa. More than you know."

Returning his smile, she tapped his forehead. "I think I have some idea," she whispered.

They stared into one another's eyes for a moment before Rufus began clearing his throat. It sounded like somebody was dying horribly, so they took the hint and looked at him. He gave them a thin smile and immediately stopped coughing. "So the two of you are leaving for parts unknown," he said. "As are Raguel and Michael, or so I'm given to understand. What about those two?"

"We are the protectors of the Planet," Genesis replied. "We will return to our pods and wait for the next day when we are needed. I hope for all our sakes that it will not be soon."

"That answers all my questions, then," Rufus said. He stretched, catlike, before taking another sip of brandy. "Except for one. Why didn't the Planet just give Cloud this power when he woke up? For that matter, why didn't it give him this power when he was born? It would have saved a lot of trouble in the long run."

"Because he never asked," Aerith replied.

Rufus made a face. "You mean to tell me that if, at any point, Cloud had asked the Planet to give him this power, it would have?"

"Only if he'd used the right words," she replied with a smile. "The Planet is particular about how people address it."

"We're all living on a recalcitrant child."

Aerith shook her head. "Sometimes, Rufus, you are far wiser than you have any right to be."

* * *

The party stood in the plaza beneath a starry sky.

The day had been spent saying goodbye. There had been people to talk to, places they wanted to visit because they would never have another chance to see them. Barret had gone to Old Corel; Cid had visited Rocket Town and paid his respects to Shera's memory; Aerith and Zack had gone to the ruins of Gongaga; Cloud and Tifa had gone back to Seventh Heaven one last time.

Vincent and Yuffie had stayed in Wutai.

_We sure are a couple of idiots, eh, Vince?_

_What are you talking about, Yuffie?_

_We both did some pretty stupid stuff in our lifetimes. You left me, and I went and took it personally and turned traitor, and that just shot everything straight to hell and got you killed, and instead of staying dead you had to come back as Galian and slowly go crazy. That about covers it, right?_

… _You make it sound as though it was my fault._

 _Well, you_ did _leave me first._

_I believe it was your idea to get into a relationship in the first place._

_Well, you're stupid._

_Brilliant response._

_Shut up. I hate you._

_No, you don't._

… _No. I don't._

…

…

As he looked up at the stars, Vincent smiled. It had been good to live one last time. He glanced at the small Wutainese woman standing next to him, then looked at the gauntlet on his arm.

Yes, it had been very good.

"What'chu smilin' 'bout, Vincent?" Barret asked. "You look awful happy fer a man 'bout to meet his maker 'gain."

"This is actually the fourth time," Vincent replied. "I've got nothing to worry about." He put his right arm around Yuffie's shoulders and drew her close to him; she smiled and wrapped her left arm around his waist. "Nothing at all."

Barret gave a small chuckle and slapped Vincent on the back. "Yer all right, Valentine."

A short distance away, Cloud shook hands with Raguel. "Will we see one another again?"

Raguel shook its head. "No. I don't think we will." It looked at Michael, who sullenly stared back at it. "Are you ready?"

"Maybe I'll die one day," Michael replied, "and I won't have to spend all eternity with you. That's the single bright point I look forward to."

The ∅ Angel blinked once, very slowly. "I would not count on that."

It seized him by the collar, crouched, and launched itself into the sky with the force of a rocket, leaving a crater in the asphalt where it had stood. Cloud watched the two points of black disappear into the sky, and despite the fact that the evening chill could not actually touch him, he felt cold.

"I almos' feel sorry for the son-bitch," Cid muttered.

"Which one?" Cloud asked.

The pilot shrugged.

Cloud had to grin at that. "All right," he said. "It's time for all of us to be on our separate ways."

"Are you sure you won't stay a little longer?" Marlene asked. "I…"

Barret pulled her into an embrace and held her there. "It's okay, kiddo," he told her. "I'm jes' goin' back to how I been for the past few decades 's all. I'll rest easier knowin' you got a bit longer 'fore you come join me." She returned his hug, obviously trying not to cry and failing.

Reeve tugged at his collar, obviously not sure how to proceed. "I don't know what to say," he began, "except thank you."

"You don't have to say anything more than that," Cloud replied. "After all, if you hadn't sent Vincent to find me, none of this would have happened. You helped save the world too, Reeve."

The ex-head of the Protectorate grabbed Cloud and hugged him fiercely. "I'll miss you," he said. "That's all I can think of. I'll miss you."

"What about me?" Yuffie demanded, poking Reeve. "Was I just a walking annoyance to you all these years or something?"

Cloud sighed and pulled her into the hug, then looked around at everyone else. Marlene had gone from hugging Barret to Aerith and Tifa, while Zack, Cid, Vincent, Rufus, and Red XIII stood apart. Zack obviously didn't feel like he knew anyone here well enough to be giving goodbye hugs, Cid was an old bastard who hated long goodbyes, and Vincent, Rufus, and Red XIII were themselves. None of them wanted to be caught up in farewells.

Marlene disengaged from Aerith and Tifa and nodded, wiping at the tears in her eyes. "I'll be fine now," she said. "It's time."

Barret gave her one last pat on the head before he moved to join the rest of AVALANCHE. Only Tifa and Cloud stood apart; the rest of them began to fade, the glow slowly draining from their forms until they were little more than pinpricks of light drifting through the air.

"Vincent," Red XIII called an instant before they were gone. "It was fun."

The gunman's mote sparkled one last time, and then it and everyone else's faded away.

Cloud and Tifa now exuded waves of light and energy, power that had been divided eight ways now only divided by two. "We should be going too," Cloud said to her. She nodded.

"Well, this is it, then," Reeve said. "The end of AVALANCHE… for real, this time."

Rufus chuckled. "I thought I would be happier when it finally happened. Now I'm so distraught I could almost cry."

"No, you couldn't," Tifa said to him. He grinned at her, his too-white teeth making him look like a shark.

"Wherever you're going," Marlene asked, "be careful, okay?"

"We will," Cloud replied. "Promise."

Red XIII padded up to Cloud and nuzzled his hand. "It was good to know you."

"I'm leaving the Planet to you, Red," Cloud told him jokingly. "That okay with you?"

The beast nodded, perfectly serious. "Of course." When Cloud seemed a bit taken aback at his reaction, Red XIII explained, "This is the end, as Reeve said… but everything is in balance. The Fall began with a meteor, and it ended with another. Every ending is also a beginning, as my Grandfather used to tell me. Your request is only natural."

Cloud smiled at him. "All right, then. The Planet's yours, Red. Take good care of it." He turned to Tifa and offered her his hand. "I think it's high time we were on our way."

Tifa nodded and took his proffered hand. "Any idea where you want to go?"

"I don't know," Cloud replied. "Let's pick a star and see where that takes us."

The two of them disappeared into a single, brilliant point of light, whiter and purer than the sun. The light jumped into the air and flung itself into space, disappearing into the great void beyond the Planet.

From their vantage point atop Mount Da Chao, Genesis and Weiss watched a shooting star rush across the sky. Genesis traced its path with an outstretched finger, watched it head straight for one of the stars on Leviathan's belt.

"Make a wish, brother," he said, "and it will come true."

**At the End of All Things**

**Fin**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I left this note at the end of the story:
> 
> Finally, I'm going to call this part Where Did Mengde Steal This From? Whenever I read Shonen manga, I always wonder where the hell the authors get their ideas. I, unfortunately, prescribe to the philosophy of writing that says you steal everything and make it your own. So, for fun, I'm going to tell you where I stole all the Immaculate Swords' powers from!
> 
> Renbato: I guess there's this one episode of Justice League where the Dee Dees get this technology that lets them duplicate whenever they take damage? I don't know. There are so many oh-look-I-make-copies-of-myself guys out there I have no idea which one I stole this from. I actually just fought one while replaying Jade Empire. So yeah, I have no idea where he comes from.
> 
> Alexandria: Control by nerve induction or whatnot through little threads inserted into the brain? This is pure Legato Bluesummers from Trigun, who makes his enemies kill themselves by controlling their movements by sending electrical currents down super-thin, almost-invisible "threads" he puts in their spines. Spoiler: he's so much cooler than anything I could ever make up. *cries*
> 
> Barachiel: Monkey-see-monkey-do boy is based on that one Suu-shin bodyguard from Rurouni Kenshin. The one that fights Aoshi with mimicry and gets his shit ruined.
> 
> Jegudiel: More mimicry, and more Rurouni Kenshin. The fact that he's Barachiel's master ("I don't fight like Barachiel, Barachiel fights like me") is from the Aoshi-Han'nya relationship, and the fact that Jegudiel not taking Red's genius into account is the flaw in his fighting style is lifted from how Aoshi defeats the Suu-shin ("It is my sword, and I know its every swing").
> 
> Selaphiel/Denzel: Invisible force walls, shockwaves, and all this stuff are pretty common themes, but throwing them all together was actually my idea. I'm going to say I didn't steal this from anywhere.
> 
> Uriel: Four words: Hellsing. Walter C. Dornez. Dude fights with razor wire and is utterly badass. He can slice you up effortlessly and can also burrow his wires into your skin to control you like a puppet.
> 
> Uriel-Yuffie: Dual fuuma shuriken are KIND of like dual chakrams, right? No? Well, her moves (what few she got to use) were vintage Axel from Kingdom Hearts II.
> 
> Raphael: I listen to music constantly while I write, and one of the bands that featured prominently in my playlists while I was writing this was Tool. One of their songs is called Vicarious. Can you guess where I got the idea for vicarius from? Lame, I know.
> 
> Gabriel: He punches things. Not much to say here. His mannerisms and appearance are pretty much all "borrowed" from L of Death Note fame, though.
> 
> Michael: I figured he had to have a thing he does, so I gave him the sphere of annihilation, which is the actual name of a spell from Dungeons and Dragons. Basically, if you fail a die roll, you die. And are reduced to nothing. Older editions were even worse; there's one infamous dungeon where if you open the wrong door you walk into one of these and die without even getting to roll. Anyway, I thought a sphere wasn't good for mano-a-mano dueling, so I let him make it into a sword. The image of the negative-light thing has been around for a while, very notably in Akira (though I only saw Akira after I wrote the first chapter with the sphere in it, actually).
> 
> Raguel: It doesn't actually do much, but the whole turns-up-naked-at-first-and-is-very-androgynous bit is just mind-screwing anime in general (hi, Neon Genesis Evangelion). The suit it makes for itself was just me playing around.
> 
> And as a final bonus, I'll tell you where I got my ideas for the Losts! I knew I wanted some kind of horrible, mutated monster, but I wasn't sure exactly how to portray it. Then I had the misfortune of watching the video to Tool's "Schism" at 1:30 in the morning. While the video is interesting on repeat viewings, it's a pure nightmare the first time through. There is one particular bit at around 2:30 or so where the humanoids in it start walking around with their legs straight, their bodies bent very sharply at the waist, using their arms as forelegs, bobbing their heads in between their arms. My uncanny valley alarm went off like all get out and I said to myself, "That's how the Losts need to move." I had to lose the head-bobbing in order for them to shriek and bite things, but still. Go watch "Schism" if you're curious. I warn you again, it is deeply disturbing.
> 
> And that concludes this edition of Where Did Mengde Steal This From?. I hope you all found it enjoyable. I will continue to be in the FFVII fandom - no specific plans, but keep an eye out for me. Until next time!


End file.
